


To Dream You Wide Awake

by ailurish



Category: Inception (2010), Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurish/pseuds/ailurish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fusion with <i>Inception</i>.</p>
<p>It wasn’t Jensen Ackles’ first time working with Jared Padalecki. Jensen’s reputation as extractor of ideas proceeded him, and Jared had worked up to being a sought-after point man in no time—but despite the dangers of dreamshare under sedation, neither of them expected the mark to turn on them, and neither expected to be dropped down into limbo, the blank shores of possibility.</p>
<p>But Jensen’s secrets are too much for even himself to handle, and Jared finds himself alone in a world he can’t change, too afraid to dream. They have to find a way to be the people they once were, to remake reality, and do it on their own terms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Dream You Wide Awake

_What if you slept?_   
_And what if in your sleep, you dreamed?_   
_And what if in your dream you went to heaven_   
_and there plucked a strange and beautiful flower?_   
_And what if when you awoke, you had the flower in your hand?_   
_Ah! What then?_   
_\- Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

|||

 

**September, 2011**   
**Los Angeles, California**

He's going to have to dream soon. He's got enough money for what, a day in the dreamscape, maybe? Jared breathes out, watching his breath fog up the window and evaporate. Maybe his subconscious will cut him a break this time. Or maybe this time, Jensen will meet his eyes.

Jared pushes away from the window. His reflection meets him in the bathroom mirror as soon as he flips on the light—Jesus, is that really him? He looks like he hasn't slept in weeks: ashen skin, dark circles under eyes still squinting in the brightness of the iridescent light. Jared turns on the tap and bends to splash water into his face. He scrubs a wet hand through his hair, wills away the drowsiness, and raises his head to stare back at himself.

Mornings are always the worst, the emptiness of not-dreams like gaping hunger, but it beats the alternative. Dreams aren't meant to reflect reality. Maybe that's what stings the most, waking up with a needle in his arm—Jared only dreams of the possible. He never lets himself dream anything but the truth.

_If only Jensen had looked him in the eye_ , Jared thinks. But he hadn't. Not then. And now, he knows, not ever. Not even in his dreams.

 

**November, 2009**   
**Lower Manhattan, New York**

Jensen arrives at the warehouse only ten minutes early, thanks in no small part to public transportation. Namely, his abhorrence of public transportation. He had hoped to take a shorter route by grabbing a different bus, but he hadn't thought about how many stops this one would have to take in getting from point A to point B.

Eight. There were _eight_ bus stops. 

He half expects to walk in on a group of people pissed off that there's nobody there to get the show on the road, or at least find someone wandering the halls, trying to find the right floor, but when he walks in there's only one person waiting. Tall, wide shoulders, and a ridiculous grin—there's no mistaking Jared Padalecki.

"Hey, Jensen! Long time no see, man. How've you been?"

"Busy," Jensen hedges. 

"Yeah, yeah, that's good," Jared says, smile dimming just a fraction. He dips his right hand into a pocket of his jeans and rocks back on his heels. 

"Did you just come off a job?" Jensen asks pointedly, nodding his head toward Jared's hand. 

Jared laughs with a bit of embarrassment. "Observant," he says. "Yeah, I finished up late last week. You ever feel like you might as well glue your totem to your hand?"

Jensen hears the door open behind him and sees from the corner of his eye Misha Collins walk in, but Jared's still looking at him with polite amusement.

"I don't have a totem. It's too risky."

Jared smiles just to humor him, hand still deep in his pocket. Jensen can see his knuckles move under the fabric. "I bet I could learn all your secrets," he says, and Jensen snorts.

"I see you two have met," Misha says cheerily, clapping his hands and rubbing them together as he passes the two men. His footsteps echo flatly in the warehouse.

"Sure," Jared says easily. "We stole some trade secrets together once. It was boring as fuck."

"You point men," Misha complains, flopping into a chair. "Always so unimpressed." 

"We don't get as much of a chance to fuck with people's heads," Jared says, grinning wide. He takes a seat next to Misha, long legs stretched out before him. "Gotta keep everyone in line."

Jensen doesn't remember Jared keeping _him_ in line. The Cartwright job had gone as smooth as anything, something he wasn't ashamed to attribute to Jared Padalecki being on the job. As infuriatingly cocky as he could be, the kid knew his shit. There was something about his easygoing Texas way that made Jensen trust him quicker than he had ever trusted someone new on the job; it made him think of life back home, when his mama was alive. You treated people like you wanted to be treated, and that was inarguable fact, sure as the sun was a hot living thing. 

It makes him a little itchy, the way he has to force himself from returning the grin just to get his mind back on work. Jensen half-glances back at the door, waiting for Chris. The warehouse felt too big, high windows and shadowy corners making the two other people in the room the safest place. Sitting next to Jared would have been _too_ comfortable, somehow, and so he sits on the other side of Misha, some traitorous buzz under his skin.

But Jared leans back in the chair, forearms pressing into the plastic armrests for balance, far enough back that he can see around the man between them.

"You think the job's blasé?" he asks, but Jensen is saved from answering when the door opens, Chris and some wiry-limbed guy Jensen doesn't recognize making their way over to them. Jensen nods quickly at Chris, who raises a hand in greeting.

"Padalecki, my man!" the other guy says, and the two clap each other on the backs grinning.

"Jensen, Misha, this is Chad Murray," Chris introduces. 

"Yo," says Chad, spinning his chair around backwards. Jensen rolls his eyes, but Jared sees it and chuckles.

Chris takes stock and says, "Who're we waiting on, McCoy?" and this must be some sort of goddamn reunion, because a tiny dark haired woman hurries through the door at that moment, quick apologies for being late on her lips, and then she stops and Jared's saying, "Sandy!" and wrapping her up in a hug.

"Jeez, that guy gets around," Jensen mutters. Next to him, Chad snorts. 

"All right, Padalecki, we know you're everyone's best friend but we have work to do; sit your giant ass down." Jared flips Chris off and goes, but not before kissing McCoy in the cheek, who smiles and pats him twice on the chest in return. Chris settles into the last chair. "Jen?"

Jensen takes his cue and heads over to the whiteboard, glad to be out of the circle.

"Okay, Katie Cassidy." He grabs the pile of half-inch binders and hands them off to Chris so they can be passed around the group.

"Rich bitch?" Chad asks, slowly glancing through the newspaper clippings in the front of the binder. Jensen shrugs a shoulder.

"Not exactly. Rich, yes, but she's sophisticated enough. Graduated from Princeton with a B.A. in Anthropology. Her older brother, uh—" he flips quickly through his notes—"Patrick, was killed in an auto accident about a year ago and she's been working for her father since then. David Cassidy, CFO of the Cohen & Cassidy Group, there's a TIME article on page 4." 

Jensen pauses, giving them the chance to skim through. The article outlines the history of the company, ending at Patrick Cassidy's prospects for partnering with his father. He had died three and a half months after the article was published. Easy research, but _easy_ ends there.

"Was there foul play?" asks Jared, and Jensen nods. Everyone else abandons their reading, and at this point Jensen figures they can all read up on everything in their own time. 

"Exactly. This is going to be a tricky one; there's a reason I've got so many of you here for this."

"Oh, get on with it," Chris gripes, and Jensen flips him off.

"Patrick's accident is what happens when the mark figures out that his mind has been invaded, wakes himself up early, and tries to fight the driver. The car went into oncoming traffic." He sees Sandy wince, shaking her head. Jared's watching Jensen, leaned back in his seat and chewing the corner of his lip, forehead creased curiously.

"We're here to fix someone else's mistake?" Misha asks, sort of brightly, but Jensen notices Jared's frown deepen.

"Pretty much. But hey, they're willing to pay us a fair price not to fuck this up."

"We're going to be dealing with a militarized subconscious," Jared finally says, and everyone shifts in their seats like they had been hoping nobody would say it out loud.

"Yes. The PASIV was still in the car when the paramedics arrived, and none of the survivors managed to get away clean. I heard a name passing ranks; guy called Merrick who went into subconscious security training. Needless to say, he isn't spoken too highly of anymore. I worked a job in July with Jeff Morgan, guess he used to work regularly with Merrick. Morgan told me the Cassidys offered him twice the amount of money he would have gotten if the job had been successful, and all he had to do was train the family to defend their subconscious. I trust Morgan's word, and I'm thinkin' so should the rest of us, because there's no way we can go ahead with this without figuring Ms. Cassidy's subconscious to be crawling with armed projections."

Jensen half expects someone to walk out, because nobody likes working jobs this risky. Failing means more than losing out on their money; West Point sure as hell doesn't want to lose twice. God only knows what they plan to do with another extraction team that fails. He's surprised when Chad leans forward and claps his hands together eagerly, elbows on his knees.

"This means we're going multi-level, right? You're going to need a sedative."

Chemists. Always up for a challenge. "That's what I'm thinking. The deeper we go, the more time we have before the subconscious realizes something's wrong. We'll have to move to the second level quickly, though, because I'm willing to bet the security will kick in almost immediately on level one."

"And you're sure we can't just isolate her somehow? I don't know, build a maze-like bunker to keep projections away until we can get the information? If any of us gets killed we don't know what will happen, Jensen."

"We all know the risks, Kane," Chad says, slumping back in his chair, bouncing one knee up and down. Sandy looks thoughtful, like she might be entertaining the idea, and Misha is staring at Jensen with such intensity that he doesn't think he _wants_ to know what's going on in his head. Jared is silently flipping through his binder.

They do know the risks. Or at least, they've heard the rumors. People's minds being sent to what they call Limbo, a level so deep you get lost in your own head. Half the time people don't wake up at all; they just stay down there, letting their bodies become vegetables. Or maybe their subconscious is wiped. Jensen shudders at the thought—the idea of awareness being replaced with _nothing_. Yeah, they know how risky it is. 

"We don't get a second chance at this, Chris," Jensen says, meeting his eyes. He already knows Chris's objections—it was his idea to get another point-man, just to make sure that both levels are being covered. Neither Chris nor Jensen has ever pulled off a heist on an armed subconscious without fucking something up along the way, and they'd had to weigh their options carefully. Fuck up the job, and all their lives or reputations are on the line. With the right protection, the team has a better chance of keeping themselves alive in the dream and pulling off a successful job.

"This says she's been taking graduate classes for the past two months," Jared cuts in, as if he hadn't been listening at all. "If we put the first level in a classroom she might not even notice she's dreaming just yet. I mean when I was in school I had nightmares of showing up for an exam unprepared and shit like that all the time. And it would be easy enough to construct a maze off hallways, right Sandy?"

"Sure, kids' stuff," she says, smiling softly at him. 

Jensen turns away from them abruptly and finds dry-erase markers in his bag, dragging the whiteboard closer. "So, level one is a college campus, level two is the bank," he tells it, writing the words in two columns. "Misha, we'll need you to forge Richard Tompkins, Ms. Cassidy's personal banker. She's not going to sign anything unless it comes straight from his hands. Page twelve."

"Mmhm," Misha says, and Jensen turns to see his nose already buried in his binder. 

"Kane," Jensen says, writing his name under the _Level 1_ column, "You're putting us under and holding off projections. Padalecki, you're with me. Level 2." He writes the name down and turns back around, carefully avoiding Jared's eyes. He doesn't miss the small smile playing across his face, but he pretends to.

 

**November, 2009**   
**Lower Manhattan, New York**

He's not the kind of person one would normally peg as a point man, Jared Padalecki. Growing up in a neat suburban Texas town, going to high school and then college to study history, thinking of maybe getting away from Texas one day for law school but mostly, mostly being okay right where he is—tell 20 year old Jared that he's going to end up part of a secret military development gone rogue and he'd laugh, good-naturedly, in your face. 

He's still not sure how he ended up in that warehouse outside of San Antonio. He had a Western Civ exam the next day, that much he remembers, an exam he was going to tank because he was out drinking instead of studying. It's just that the man at the bar was good conversation on top of being dangerously attractive, especially to a newly-out-of-the-closet-and-curious (read: horny—finally properly horny) Jared. 

So then he was in that warehouse, letting himself be hooked up by needle to a dream world, and that was that. And he was good at it. _Really_ good, and it was something he wanted for himself, not like going to college because he was supposed to, settling on a major that came just a bit easier than the rest. He wasn't well-traveled, or well-learned, but he was observant. If there was one thing Jared could do, it was hone in on the details about a person, figure out what they wanted and what they liked and going from there. It served him well enough on the small-time heists, and by the time he was getting paid more money for a few hours of dream time than he thought he'd ever see in his life—well, by then he'd been around the block; been around the globe a time or two. By then he knew what it was about those history classes that fascinated him, and it was the details.

Most people are open about themselves, he has learned, even if they don't know it. In fact most people are dying for someone to understand them, and that's what Jared does. 

Which is why, when he goes home after the third day of reviewing the Cassidy family background and watching Sandy build a tiny model of a school on his lunch break, Jared is surprised to realize that he really doesn't have a good read on Jensen Ackles at all. He is who he is - that is to say, he's an extractor, through and through. 

If the last theft they'd done had been any indication, Jensen kept his private life well separated from his job. All told, Jared had spent seven days of his life with the man and all he could tell you other than his name is that Jensen is very thorough, very good at what he does, has a dry sense of humor and takes no bullshit.

Well, that's a lie. He lets the bullshit slide right past him, no passing go, no collecting two hundred dollars. 

Jared has learned to accept that some people want their privacy, and that most of them deserve it. He can't help being curious, though, and Sandy chides him on it the day before the job ("You're like a puppy behind a baby gate, staring with those big dumb eyes") so he decides to keep out of the way as much as he can. 

Good intentions, though, have a tricky little way of backfiring.

 

_**Dreamscape** _ **—Cassidy job; Level 1**

There's still gunfire going off down at the end of the hallway and Chris is nowhere to be fucking found. Jared's playing hero with his back to the door, and two of the projections in the corner scream when he pulls a Magnum out of the waistband of his jeans. 

"It's fine, you're fine, I'm an undercover cop," Jared says quickly. Jensen has enough time to appreciate his quick thinking before Jared has slipped out of the classroom door and now Jensen is down _two_ men.

Misha has had the good sense to usher all of the projections into the corner of the room, wearing the image of Cassidy's Microeconomics professor, and he's keeping them all well and truly terrified. The more believable the situation, the better, but Jensen is a little worried about how easily the projections are going to turn on them as soon as Chris shows up with the PASIV and they try putting Cassidy under. 

Jared flies back in the door, shutting it behind him and turning the deadbolt. He looks worse for wear but is otherwise unhurt.

"Chris is trying to evacuate," Jared tells Jensen, shuffling close. 

"All right listen up!" Jensen yells, and the panicked projections immediately quiet down. "We're evacuating. Run as calmly as you can, single-file, got it? Nobody is getting trampled today. Move!"

The students rush all at once toward the door and then Misha takes over, guiding them out one-by-one. Jared sidles up to Cassidy and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Miss Cassidy, we're going to have to ask you to stay behind," he says calmly. Jensen had hoped it wouldn't come to this.

"What?" Cassidy says, eyes wide as she looks up at Jared. "Who are you?"

Jared's jaw tightens and he glances toward Jensen. Jensen nods, a bit reluctantly, and readies his Colt. 

"That doesn't matter," Jared says. "We don't think this is an angry student, Miss Cassidy. It's possible that this attack is connected to your brother's death."

Jensen misses her reaction because Chris pushes his way into the room then, just as the last few students leave. He's carrying the PASIV and Cassidy looks at it uncomprehendingly. 

"Oh thank fuck," Jensen says. "Where the hell have you been?"

"It's a whole damn school, Jensen," Chris says tightly.

"What's going on? I think I have the right to—" Cassidy starts to say, but before she can finish Jared's got a chloroform-soaked cloth to her nose, and she drops back into him, unconscious, as Jared mutters, "Sorry."

"You didn't tell her anything, did you?" Chris asks, flinging the PASIV onto a desk and undoing the latches. 

"Two more minutes and we would have had to," Jensen says bitterly, and Misha says, "Oh just get on with it," settling into a chair. 

Chris sets about hooking everyone to the machine, and imparts them all with the advice, "Don't fuck this up," before pressing the Somnacin release, laced with more of Chad's sedative. The last thing Jensen sees is Chris's worried expression, and then everything goes dark.

_**Dreamscape** _   
**Cassidy Job; Level 2**

He has to admit, there's a reason Misha's reputation is as good as it is. Jensen has ushered Cassidy into Tompkins' office mere minutes after the dream began, which is nothing short of plain luck—they'd spent too much time trying to play the first lever off as a school shooting when Cassidy's security had opened fire on campus.

"Katie, dear, we have a lot to catch up on!" Misha says, wrapping her small hand around both of his. She relaxes, settling into a chair in front of the desk, and Jensen finds a post by doorway. They're so close to finishing this job - just one signature and access to her account is in Misha's hands. Jensen keeps alert for sounds of Cassidy's security projections.

He's only half-listening to the small talk Misha is making with the mark, explaining what exactly she has been called into the bank to sign and why, but he tunes back in when Misha hesitates at one of her questions. There's nobody coming down the hallway, no projections have stopped to look at them, but Misha starts rifling through the drawers of the desk.

"I don't have any of the forms in my office, do you mind if I send for one? Unless you're short on time?"

"No, I—" Cassidy pauses, and Jensen curses Misha inwardly. Rule number one: do not let the mark think about how they got here or where they're going. She doesn't seem to notice, however, just smiles and repeats, "No, that would be fine. I'll wait here, shall I?"

This is not good. Misha's brushing past him, no words exchanged and then he's gone, and they have no signature, and the clock is ticking. Jensen keeps his eyes trained forward, careful not to give away any of his suspicion. Cassidy taps a finger on the arm of her chair and then leans over to look at something on the desk. She pauses, stands up, turns to look at Jensen.

"Excuse me," she says sweetly, and then slips right past him. Jensen debates holding her back—he doesn't want her getting a good look at him, of course, but he can't let her just walk away either.

"Padalecki," he says into his radio, and hears " _Fuck, are - - - problem?“_ amidst static. "I need you to detain the mark. She's heading back down the hallway. I'm following for now."

" _Ten-four good buddy.“_

Jensen slips into the hall. If Cassidy suspects anything, she's got an excellent grip on her subconscious, because none of the projections he passes on his way downstairs even look up.

Jared's talking to Cassidy to the side of the stairwell. "—safety precautions? This is a bank, not a dark alley," is what Jensen catches.

"Ackles, care to explain to Miss Cassidy why leaving the bank would be a terrible idea?" Jared says, but then someone screams, and they're pushing Cassidy into an empty office before the gunfire has stopped sounding.

"Fuck," Jared says. "I told you this was a bad idea!"

Jensen ignores him. "Cassidy, do you know what's happening right now?"

"No! Dude, shut the hell up, you want to deal with the whole damn building collapsing on top of this?"

"I know this is a dream," Cassidy says calmly, and whatever comeback Jensen had at the ready dissolves. "You think I didn't notice your little game?"  
He and Jared exchange grim looks. "Listen, we're not here to hurt you," Jared says, and she shakes her head fiercely.

"I know you can't hurt me in a dream. You're ones, aren't you? The men who killed my brother?"

"No, we're not those men, okay? We had nothing to do with that, I promise."

There's a sudden shudder in the dream—like a dropped frame on film; one moment jerks unevenly into the next, and then there's a gun in Cassidy's hand, as if she had been carrying it all along. Jensen's eye supplies the make and model of the gun she's holding, unhelpfully: a Colt 1911, the perfect gun for someone her size, the perfect gun to kill a man at close range.

"Then it's not going to make any difference if I shoot you, right? Whatever it is you want, you're not getting it. Who are you? What information in the entire damn universe was so important that my brother had to die for it?"

"We're trying to tell you—"

"Who. _Are_ you?" she says again, and Jensen notes the strength in her arms as she aims, her posture, the stillness of the barrel. She's had weapons training as well, then. "They were after you, weren't they?" she says lowly, when neither men respond. "The shooters, they were my subconscious defense."

Jared jumps pretty quickly onto the game, here, taking a resigned breath and holding up his hands. "No. The shooters are who you're looking for. They're the ones responsible for your brother. _We_ —" he gestures at Jensen, "Jensen and I, we're you're defense."

"Bullshit. Bullshit, you're lying!" Cassidy shouts. From outside, the chaos grows louder; Jensen hopes to god that Misha has found away into that lock box for the information they need, because they're not getting it out of the mark at this rate.

"Miss Cassidy, Katie, you have to calm down "You know your training, I can see that. Think about it. You remember that we put you under, right? You remember that?" Jared pauses, waiting for the recognition to cross Cassidy's face. "The school, there was a gunman. _That is who is after you_. I can't tell you who I am because I don't exist anywhere but in your head."

"Jared, we don't have time for this," Jensen warns. Jared shoots him a look that says _I know that, dumbass,_ , and walks over to calmly close the door. The sounds of panic die down.

"You aren't doing a very good job of keeping them in control anymore, are you?" Jensen tells Katie. She looks at him, worrying her lower lip for a moment, and then shakes her head.

"What do you want from us?"

"We want to keep you safe, all right? Katie. Jared is lying." Jared grabs roughly at Jensen's arm, but he shakes him off. "He's gonna be really pissed at me for telling you the truth, but I need to give you all the information I can so that you can make the right decision here."

Katie lowers the gun half an inch in validation. "Tell me."

"You're right, we're here for the same reason that your brother was killed. But we _are not_ the same people. We don't want anybody to get hurt, all right? And that includes ourselves. Did they even tell you, when you did your training, that you can dream within dreams?"

She shakes her head, looking dubious. Katie spares Jared a quick glance, who smiles halfheartedly, but to his credit he's not about to stop Jensen any time soon.

"You can. That is happening to you right at this moment. Think about it. That school wasn't just another dream; we were there, too. Remember? Me and Jared here, and a couple others."

"You said - you said you weren't going to hurt me. And then—"

"Yes, you're right, and we're sorry about that. But we can't maintain a second dream level without a little help. Sedation, I guess you would call it. All I'm trying to say here is that if you shoot us, we will not wake up. I hope that matters to you."

"Matters? Do you want to know what _matters_ to me? _My brother's life,_ asshole!"

She's interrupted by a low, wailing sound from overhead—for half a second Jensen thinks it's coming from outside the door, but then he realizes that it's not coming from the dream at all.

Jared gets it at the same time and Jensen looks at him—music. It's the kick, and they're all about to wake up in a fucking taxi cab with a girl who literally wants to murder them. The same way her brother died, no less, and whose idea was it to do this in a car, anyway?

"Don't worry about that," Cassidy says. "You two aren't waking up anyway."

Jensen tries not to panic, but his voice still comes out all wrong. "Listen to me—listen to me! We are _under heavy sedation_ , if you kill us now—"

"Do you think she cares about that? Katie, never mind what he's saying. We're here to protect you, so you can put the gun down, okay?"

"It's not going to help you. Shooting us is _not_ going to help you."

Jared's hands are up in surrender, Jensen's outstretched and placating, one foot inching forward; if he can just get close enough, he can—

The gunshot is deafening in the small space. Katie's body needs no recovery time; it's her dream, she can ignore the recoil all she wants. Jensen sees Jared's body drop out of the corner of his eye, gunshot still ringing in his ears, and he'll never forget that sound, never, because when the gun goes off again, it only sounds like an echo.

 

_**7,294 days, 23 hours, 57 seconds** _

Jared wakes up gasping, a mouthful of seawater rolling in, and he coughs out the briny taste just in time to be pulled under by another wave. He rolls in the current, opening his eyes to the stinging water and sees the sand not far below him at the same time as his knees slam into it. The sand is packed tight—he's close to the shore. He surfaces again to momentarily calm waters, using the next wave to propel him forward. It brings him far enough in that he can scramble himself upright, head above the water, and the next wave washes him onto the shore. Jared lays gasping up into the sun, blindingly white even through his eyelids, clothes clinging wetly to his skin. Every breath tastes like seawater but he heaves air in anyway, trying to remember where he is. There's a heavy weight in his pocket, and Jared reaches into the heavy fabric of his jeans to pull out his pocket watch. It's a little waterlogged, but it's _there_ , craftsmanship keen enough that when he pops it open water rushes out of the lid, but nothing sloshes around in the gears.

Holding it up to block the sun, Jared has to squint into the shadowed clock face until his eyes adjust enough to let him focus in on detail. There they are, clock hands ticking away. A dream, then. The sound of the waves blocks out the watch's gentle ticking. 

Jared thinks back quickly, and the last thing he remembers is the loud crack of a gunshot. Katie Cassidy's determined expression and a panicked voice beside him, _Killing us is_ not _going to help you—_

Jensen. He's on his feet in an instant. "Jensen!" he yells, hears the wind and the waves swallow them, brushes his wet hair away from his eyes. There, ten feet down the beach: Jensen's crumpled form, face-down in the shallows of the sea, waves rolling in and pushing him lazily along.

"God damn it," Jared mutters, ignoring his heart pounding away in his chest, the burn in his lungs. He splashes back into the surf and grabs Jensen under his arms, hauling him backwards out of the waves. 

"Jensen, man, wake up," he pleads, and like an answered prayer, Jensen coughs up seawater, rolls over onto his knees and starts sucking in air in between wracking coughs, rough and choked.

"Oh, god," Jensen says hoarsely, rolling onto his back, and then he says nothing more while Jared kneels next to him, watching him breathe, water still lapping at his heels. 

"Y'all right, man, are you okay?" Jared asks, heart rate finally slowing down. Jensen pushes himself to his feet and coughs again. Jared follows him, wraps a hand around his bicep when he stumbles.

"'M fine. Dude, I can _breathe_ now; I'm fucking fantastic." 

Jared laughs weakly.

"You, are you.. ?" Jensen asks, squinting at Jared. 

"Yeah."

"Smart enough not to try and breathe when you wake up underwater, huh?" Jensen is smiling, but he's still breathing heavily, eyes a little wide. "Where the fuck are we, dude?"

"I think, uh." Jared turns in a quick circle: the beach stretches up and down as far as his eye can see, an ocean stretching back to the horizon. It's nothing but sand in the opposite direction. 

"Limbo," Jensen finishes. Then neither of them says anything, seeing the same expression mirrored on each other's faces. Jared can't even find it in him to panic. There's nothing he can do at this point, anyway. 

Limbo. So it is real.

"She shot us," Jensen says. Jared nods and looks away. "The kick, it wasn't long before the kick-—do we, can we get back from there?" Jensen is talking mostly to himself, but Jared shrugs.

"I don't know, man, I've never been to limbo." That gets him a short laugh, Jensen's voice still rough from seawater. Jared spins around again and trots back to where he dropped the watch, afraid for a moment that he might have flung it close enough for the water to reach its greedy fingers out and grab it, but he spots the sun glancing of its brass casing. 

"We've got a few hours until the kick," he says as he walks back, reading the watch. Jensen looks at him dubiously.

"'A few hours' is kind of arbitrary, Jared."

"Okay, then," Jared says, chuckling. "We've got two hours, twelve minutes and about forty seconds."

In the time it had taken Jared to retrieve the watch, Jensen had rid himself of his wet jacket and tie, and Jared takes the hint—he quickly toes of his shoes and peels the wet socks off with one hand, shedding his waterlogged jacket. It thuds wetly onto the sand.

"You don't seem like the kind of man who bothers with punctuality," Jensen says, nodding his head towards the watch clutched in his fist. 

Jared grins. "You got that right. It was my grandfather's watch."

When Jensen just looks at him with an expression that reads unimpressed, Jared elaborates. "He used to make me wind it up for him when I was little, I think because he knew I was fascinated by it. Or he just thought that the punk grandson of his who grew up in an age of tiny watch batteries needed to learn a thing or two about the way the world used to be, who knows."

He gets a small smile out of Jensen, who is still standing a careful distance away, which says just about all it really needs to say. There's no one here to care who he's associating with, nobody who will ever know what goes on down here between them. Jensen's pants are rolled up past his ankles, bare feet in the wet sand, and he squints against the sunlight.

"Here", Jared says, moving in close and holding out his totem. It's close enough that Jensen actually has to take a step back, palms out.

"Woah, man, I can't do that. It's your totem; you can't just give it to me."

Jared rolls his eyes. " _Take_ it." He holds it practically under Jensen's nose and Jensen, bewildered, has to reach toward himself just to take it out of Jared's hand.

He feels an odd sort of accomplishment while he watches Jensen look down at it and hooks his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. "It keeps perfect time in a dream."

Jensen looks up from the watch with a raised eyebrow. "Your watch totem does the impossible by keeping time?"

Jared feels his grin widen across his face, feeling a bit like a magician about to pull off the prestige. "My grandfather's watch doesn't have a mainspring anymore. It can't physically wind up."

Jensen nods as he hefts the weight of the pocket watch in his hand, impressed. "Pretty useful totem for a point man. Does it work in multiple levels? Does it account for the compounded time based on reality? No, fuck, don't answer that. I don't need to know this," he amends, shaking his head.

Jared just laughs. "Yes, it does. You've got five minutes on the timer, therefore an hour in the dream, and the watch'll only record the passing of five minutes. It just looks much, much slower on the watch face."

"So, the second hand actually records minutes, and the minute hand actually records hours, and the hour hand actually records... ?"

"One day and sixteen hours of dream time," Jared finishes. "Takes a little math to figure out, but it's useful for timing kicks."

Jensen shakes his head in awe and holds the watch out for Jared to take back, the corner of his mouth turned up in a bemused smile. "Beautiful," he says.

Their fingers brush when Jared takes it from him, returning the watch to his pocket.

|||

"Here."

Jared drops a Browning GP into Jensen's lap.

"What's this?"

"Our ticket out of here."

Jensen swallows, looking down at the gun. "Are you sure? I mean, we've never actually met anyone who has been to limbo. Or at least I haven't. What if this is the reason people end up as vegetables? They shoot themselves, hoping to wake up, and bam, they're destroying their subconscious."

"I don't feel like a subconscious. Do you feel like a subconscious?"

Jensen forces down a smile. "What does that even mean?"

"I don't know, it just doesn't seem likely. It's easy to forget down here, man. I don't know how you manage without a totem." Jensen shrugs noncommittally. "Point is, we missed the kick."

"We what?" Jensen's heart is hammering in his chest. He'd been hoping... goddamn, he didn't even hear anything. Jared nods, holds out his pocket watch.

"We've been in here for three hours, dude. If the kick was going to wake us up, we'd be up."

"So we're going to have to wait until the Somnacin wears off. The Somnacin laced with whatever the hell kind of sedative your friend Chad put in there."

"Hey, you hired the guy."

Jensen ignores that. "That's... how long is that, Jared? Ten years? Fifteen?"

Jared shakes his head. "Twenty. So your choices are the gun, or twenty years."

Something thuds in Jensen's chest. He should choose the gun. He should take the risk. Twenty years.

That's twenty years that he can do whatever he wants with, no consequences. He can be whoever he wants, whatever he wants. He could build a city and live in it. He could create the perfect villa in a village just like the one he saw in the East Indies two years ago, and live in it. He could...

He looks at Jared. He lets himself look, and keep looking, and he wonders if Jared knows what he's thinking, because he doesn't let on.

"Shoot me, Jensen," Jared says quietly. "It's our best option, I promise."

He's right. Choosing to stay is practically begging to wake up a vegetable. How long would his life seem if he didn't wake up? Would he die when his body dies? What happens to the subconscious if it _doesn't_ go with the body?

Jensen takes the pistol and raises it to eye level, head slightly titled as he lines up his shot. Jared doesn't blink. 

Moments pass; the determination written in the lines of Jensen's face begins to waver. The gun loosens in this grasp. 

"I can't do it."

"Why not? You must've done it a hundred times in a hundred dreams. C'mon, do it."

Jensen licks his lips. "What if we're wrong? What happens if I shoot you and you don't wake up? Man, this doesn't feel right."

"We're dreaming, I _promise_ this is a dream." Jared digs his pocket watch out and holds it out, fingers tight around the clock face. "Look, it's ticking. I _know_ we're dreaming."

Jensen eyes the watch doubtfully, gun still half-raised. He considers Jared's earnest expression for a second longer and then drops his arm, shaking his head. "I can't." He drops the gun and it lands barrel-first in the sand, safety off, dropping harmlessly to its side. Jensen rubs a hand over his face and turns, strides away before it hits the ground.

"Hey! Listen, this is our best chance of getting out of here before we become, I dunno, fucking _braindead_!" Jared says, setting off after him. 

"Then you do it!" Jensen turns, gestures roughly towards the gun in the sand. "Go ahead, shoot yourself. I won't be responsible for what happens."

Jared stops three paces off, shoulders slumped. "I'm not leaving you here," he says quietly.

Jensen considers him. "You're gonna have to make a choice then, because I'm not taking the chance."

Something heavy is weighing Jared's chest down, making it hard for him to breathe. "Do you even—do you realize what you're asking?"

"Yes. I do."

"Twenty years."

Jensen nods, something like a smile at the corner of his mouth as he takes in one deep breath, lets it out to be taken by the salty breeze, towards the vast emptiness of mountains and valleys that he built with a thought; their wide shelter from the world.

"Twenty years," he repeats. He looks at Jared, and Jared looks back.

 

**September, 2011**   
**Los Angeles, California**

"Jesus fuck, Jared, you livehere?"

Jared is frowning but he shuts the door behind Chad, welcoming him in. It's been two and a half days since he even attempted to sleep, and he wants to skip the formalities and just force Chad to put him under by any means necessary. 

Chad turns to face him after scrutinizing Jared's admittedly piece-of-shit apartment, as if he's never had to scrape by on a dime a day and nothing to show for it. Jared is willing to bet that Chad has seen much, much worse from Somnacin addicts, or even the guys who sell him some of his equipment, but he doesn't call him out on it.

"You look like shit," Chad says. One compliment after another.

"Yeah, dude, I look like shit, the apartment looks like shit, my life has become shit. Can we get on with it?"

Chad sobers. "How long has it been?"

Jared shrugs, looking away. "Couple days."

"You know what I meant."

Jared brushes past him and pulls out the top drawer of the dresser that takes up most of the east wall, pawing past his clean socks and boxers until he finds the small bundle of cash. Dresser drawer is definitely not the safest place to keep his money, but Jared doesn't exactly have anywhere _else_ to put it, and he doubts anyone would attempt to rob this hell hole, anyway. He presses the money to Chad's chest.

"Whatever that will get me, I don't care how crappy the quality. Just, as much as you can give me. Please."

Chad shakes his head slow. He takes the money, but he doesn't put it away, doesn't set down the PASIV, doesn't do anything but look at Jared with the kind of expression that makes Chad look older than he really is, and concerned. Jared can't stand to see it. "Three months."

Chad rubs a thumb and forefinger over his eyes, sighing. "Alright. We'll put you to sleep first, but then we have to talk, okay? I'm worried about you, Jay."

He should be feeling guilty, Jared knows, but the truth is he's just too damn _tired_ to care. He knows he dropped off the radar after he moved out to LA and away from Chad's shop, but he'd needed to get away, get back to the States, clear his head. Being surrounded by strangers was easier than getting calls about jobs he had to turn down, hearing Jensen's name come up from time to time. He'd wanted to become a runaway. He'd wanted to be by the ocean. The Pacific on the Western American coast was dirty and cold, waves small, buildings crowding the skyline—everything that limbo wasn't. But sometimes, he just needed to sleep on the sand. 

Chad's already setting up the machine next to the bed Jared has been lying on at night, staring at the ceiling. It was one of the first things he learned, back when he was just getting into dreamshare—you don't get to stop. In the business for too long, and you stop dreaming altogether without the aid of Somnacin. Back then he never thought he would be one of _those_ people, the ones that the word _insomniac_ was too gentle to describe—the ones going slowly crazy. It feels like that was so, so long ago.

"Thanks, Chad," Jared mumbles, tumbling onto the bed. His bones ache. He barely feels the prick of the needle as it slides in. Closing his eyes, the last thought he has if of Jensen; that he hopes he won't see him in his dreams at all, this time.

 

_**7,288 days, 13 hours, 23 minutes** _

"Danny?" Jared asks.

The two of them are back on the same stretch of beach they washed ashore at, building sandcastles. _Sandcastles_ , like they're twelve. The difference is, of course, that sandcastles when they were twelve couldn't become fully realized kingdoms with just a deciding thought.

Jensen, as it turns out, doesn't like to work in silence. It's like someone turned the right key, and Jared is more than willing to listen. They're talking about home, about Texas, how it may well be bigger than limbo itself, if such a thing were possible. 

"Hm? Yeah, Danneel."

Jared scratches the back of his neck. He squints through the sunlight at Jensen, sees him washed out in the bright glare off the ocean, glances away when it starts stinging his eyes. "She your girlfriend?" The sun gives him an excuse to look down past his feet when he says it.

"She's... well, she's something," Jensen says, warmth in his voice to match the day. Jared nods, sends a cocky grin in his direction, shielding his eyes with a hand at his brow.

"She pretty?"

Jensen smiles back with a mock-modest shrug. "She is. Danni and I met in school. Partners in crime."

"Yeah but not _this_ crime, right? She doesn't uh, work in dreamshare?"

"Nah. She's a defense lawyer now. "

"Must be tough, with you always being on the job and all."

"She's pretty busy too. 'S why we never really, you know. Got married, I guess. It's sort of easier this way." 

Jared's not going to claim that he can read Jensen just yet, but he's been in business with a lot of shady people over the years and he knows a rehearsed speech when he hears one. "You miss her?" Jared asks, and damn what a stupid thing to say. Of course he misses her. 

Jensen doesn't say anything outright, doesn't agree without a beat like Jared expected, but he chooses his words carefully.

"Danni's my best friend. It's nice to know that when you go home, you're really going _home_. Somewhere you can be around people who aren't trying to steal something. She's... grounding. This line of work, you've got to go out in the world sometimes and just live your life. Danneel understands that."

They work in silence after that. Jared doesn't say it out loud, but he thinks maybe Jensen has more in common with Danneel than he thinks he does. He wonders how much of Jensen's life he has actually lived for _himself_. How much he lives for the dreams.

Jared's sandcastle looks more like a stalactite, sand dripped wetly from between his clenched fingers. 

He certainly couldn't begrudge Jensen for that, living for the dreams. He's pretty sure that's what they're all in for, every one of them. Even Chad. Jensen might be the only person he's ever met that goes in to be himself, Jared thinks, and not just so he can pretend to be someone better.

Jared clears his throat and stands, brushing his hands against his jeans to clear them of sand. He wonders if the invasiveness of sand as a general rule will ever be something he'll get used to. Probably not.

"So! Look at us, man. We're dwelling. Dwelling is bad."

"You think we should forget about what's really out there? Is that a good idea?"

Jared looks down at him. Jensen's sandcastle is actually... well. Thorough. It looks like a house and not a lump of sand that _represents_ house, which is how Jared is approaching things. Jensen himself is perpetually squinting into the sunlight, and. Well.

Jared looks away; that way lay madness. He files the way Jensen looks in the sun under _unfair_ and leaves it at that. For now.

"I just mean we shouldn't sit here on the beach missing the rest of the world. We need a plan, here. What've we got, mountains, forests, that mess of skyscrapers over there... what are you thinking?"

Jensen's standing at his elbow now, looking somewhere off to the left. The watch says it's been a week since they first realized they could build limbo like they'd build a dream, but _days_ isn't a really concrete term here. It could be, Jared supposes, they could have sunrises and sunsets and clocks that tell the actual time, but that's dangerous. The less circadian rhythm, they reproduce, the better.

"I was thinking we should ... no, nevermind." Jensen shakes his head as if he can erase the thought.

"Hey," Jared says softly, "it's just us here, man."

Jensen turns a grim look on Jared, eyes serious. He swallows and nods, taking in a deep breath. "I was gonna say we should make a trail through the mountains over there. I don't know about you, but as long as our subconsciouses are going to let us treat our bodies like they're real, I'm going to need to move. And dude, I was in Indonesia once looking for a chemist, right? Have you ever been there? It's beautiful. So, I'm thinking we could make a trail, through there and I can model it off the steppes."

Jared smiles, watching the way Jensen illustrates what he's trying to say with his hands, spreading them enthusiastically out at the horizon, miming the jaunty shape of a mountainous backdrop, spinning his wrist to generalize what he's saying. He's lit up with enthusiasm, and it's catching. 

He lets Jensen design for himself, keeping his own opinions out so that Jensen can have this, just his, just pure creation without reserve. The mountains in the distance are breathtaking, the way he can see just a silhouette and at the same time intense detail, the lush green mountainside and the misty peaks both at once; Jared is fascinated instead by the relaxed slope of Jensen's shoulders, the ease of his smiles, the way he forgets himself until he is _just_ himself. He wonders how long it will take for Jensen to drop his façade completely. He has plenty of time.

_**7,284 days, 5 hours, 31 minutes** _

"So, Jensen. What's your first name?"

"Jensen."

It takes Jared a second to get it, mouth open in confusion, but then he just nods. "Ah. So, Jensen... ?"

Guy never gives up, he thinks in amusement. "Why are you so interested?"

"We're gonna be stuck down here for a little while at _least_. I don't know about you, but I spend that long with someone, I don't want them to be a stranger."

Jensen eyes him askance, sizing him up. It's a formality; the decision's been made, he just doesn't want to admit it. Jared makes him want to _talk_ , spill out his thoughts and see what Jared's clever hands will do with them. _I bet I could learn all your secrets_. Jensen's surprised at how true that really is. He's not sure which he's more afraid of, slipping or hitting the ground, but he's curious to feel the rush of the wind as he falls.

"Ackles," he says cautiously. "Jensen Ackles." 

The thing about Jared is that he's curious. There are things he wants to know and he goes out and learns it; it's what makes him such a good point man. But down here, there are only so many things to learn about that don't reside in his own subconscious. So he wants to learn. Wants to know about Jensen. He's the only person he's ever met who actually listens, all of his attention trained on what Jensen is saying. Jared can't even pay attention to _himself_ half the time, off-hand comments turning into long, drawn-out tangents so convoluted that Jensen couldn't follow it if he tried. He tends to just let the words wash over him until Jared asks a question, or gets distracted by something else. 

But as soon as Jensen has something to say, whether it's a story to tell or just wondering if they can get it to rain upside down for the hell of it, Jared's quiet. Focused. 

So he talks. They never stray too far from that first stretch of beach—the pull of the sand is too strong. Even after Jensen had built an entire city, played with the logistics of it in a way that Jared spends too much time purposefully trying to avoid, he wanted more. A blank canvas. Sitting on the sand, he wonders absently if they'll ever need to get rid of that crutch, that visual representation of their architecture.

"What about you?" Jared is saying.

"'What about me' what?" Jensen asks. Jared's train of thought usually works faster than his mouth, which is saying something right there, and whatever he'd been thinking about must have jumped a few tracks.

"How'd you get into this?"

Jensen looks at his hands, nodding to his lap. Dreamsharing isn't exactly on the list of majors offered in any college. Not very many come by the job honestly—architects, sure, maybe a chemist if they're stumbling onto experimental research that catches the attention of someone in the know. Jensen hasn't met many of the military personnel who have actual training in the matter, just one or two defectors. He doesn't envy the danger they've put themselves in.

He doesn't have a direct answer, can't say which of his bad decisions led him here, and Jared's quiet while he thinks. 

"I wanted to know how the mind works." He could leave it at that, he knows. He's aware of Jared's curiosity prickling between them, but Jared doesn't push it. 

"My parents died. They were, they were killed. Homicide." He can't bring himself to say the word _murder_. Jared doesn't recoil, doesn't say he's sorry, doesn't try to offer condolences at all. He just gets up and sits down next to Jensen, shoulder to shoulder. He meets Jensen's eyes solemnly and says, "I didn't know."

Jensen shakes his head. "No, I don't expect people to—I mean, it's better that they just... don't know." He rubs at his jaw. "I was fifteen. Just got home from school and there were these men inside, people my father knew. I recognized their cars. Didn't know anything, I just walked right in."

" _Jesus_ , Jen! That—goddamn," Jared blurts, shaking his head. "Are you... no, God, that's a stupid question. That's, that's rough, man." No, no condolences, but Jared does cover Jensen's knee with one wide palm, rubbing at Jensen's jeans with his fingers before letting his hand slide away. It's not much different from a clap on the back or a quick shake of the shoulder, but Jensen feels Jared's hand there even after it's gone. It's been fifteen years and he's heard every different kind of reaction to his story, but sitting next to Jared feels a lot like it felt back then, sitting in Danneel's room while she kept the media, the rest of the school, the whole goddamn world away from bothering him. A safe place.

Danni had been mourning too, of course, and not just Jensen's parents. He knew he was different after that day, knew he always would be, no matter how bravely he tried to handle it all. Hell, a kid doesn't lose his parents and then just continue on with his life; that's something Jensen accepted a long time ago. It's all a distant memory, one he tries to keep himself from returning to at all costs. There are times when it feels like it happened to someone else altogether. Jensen thinks he prefers it that way. 

"It's okay dude, really. I don't remember any of it. It's a psychological thing," he tells Jared.

"Really? Nothing?"

"Well, I mean. I remember walking in there and realizing something was wrong, and that there was a struggle of some kind. That's kind of sketchy, apparently there was evidence of me taking damage, but I don't know how much of that memory is just constructed from hearing the theories. It's hard to tell. And then I, uh, I remember waking up. And they, you know. They were dead. And the guys were gone. They were gone, my parents were gone, all the money was gone. So that was that. I can't remember a damn thing, man, and I was right there. Psychologists said I repressed the memory. Gone. And I didn't like being betrayed by my own mind."

Jared's just nodding, staring straight ahead, and so Jensen knocks a leg into his. "And anyway, I had no money, right? Court gave me a psychologist and I could only go for so long, and I couldn't go to college anyway so I didn't see the point of going to high school anymore, either. Only thing I had left was Danni, and I wasn't much fun to be around anymore. But I wanted to know more about the brain, and one thing led to another, and here I am."

Jared doesn't say anything while he talks but he doesn't look away this time either, and when he's finished, Jensen doesn't mind seeing the pity. There's understanding there, too. All kinds of people in this life, and Jared's probably heard worse stories. He doesn't say anything when Jensen is finished talking, either. The silence is comfortable. Quietly, Jared says, "thank you," sincerity like only Jared Padalecki can manage.

Jensen nods, but it doesn't feel like he has given anything. He should be thanking _Jared_ , he thinks abstractly. He moves his hands from his lap to rest on the ground beside his leg, curling his fingers over the edge of the dock. He lets himself relax, Jared next to him, hands mere centimeters away from each other, close enough to touch.

_**7,282 days, 17 hours, 55 minutes**_  
"Tell me about your first dreamshare," Jared asks. "C'mon. I _love_ those stories."

"It was a little bit... disappointing."

Jared stops digging. His hand rests in the cool sand and when he looks over, Jensen is lying on his back, hands folded under his head.

"What do you mean?" Jared scoops more sand out, doesn't want to sound too critical so he goes back to building, nonchalant. As if it isn't clawing at him, wanting to know how dreamshare could ever be less than pure fucking _magic_ ; wanting to keep Jensen talking.

"I always thought..." Jensen begins, then cuts off with self-deprecating laugh. "Nothing, I just. I guess I'm demanding, wanting more than"—he waves his hand in the air above him, indicating the dream itself, the blank canvas of limbo—"this."

Jared shakes his hand, standing unceremoniously and dumping himself back onto the sand next to where Jensen's lying. "No, man, now you've got me curious. What could we possibly be missing?" 

He says it like it's a joke, but Jensen chews at the inside of his lip absently, looking up at the sky but seeing God knows what. "I don't know," he murmurs. 

Jared can't help it—he's drawn into this now, zeroing in on details. He doesn't like it when he can't answer his own questions, and Jensen is a huge question mark in his mind. He wants to know the answer. Needs to know why all of his attention pulls to Jensen, like trying to listen to a song on a station that's stuck between frequencies. He leans back on the sand, mirroring Jensen's arm-pillow position, far enough away that Jensen doesn't feel like he needs to explain. They could just lie here, that's okay. But Jensen doesn't make him wait for long.

"I used to hope that dreams meant something more than random nerves misfiring in your brain. Everyone wants to be part of something bigger than them, right?" He looks sideways at Jared, eyes open but guarded, and Jared nods. 

"We want to be able to explain our existence. We don't want to be alone."

"Exactly." Jensen's eyes return to the lazy clouds.

For a long moment Jared thinks that's it, and decides halfheartedly that it's enough to go on for now, another clue in his mystery, but then Jensen starts speaking again.

"I thought our dreams were the key to unlocking whatever it is that ties everything together."

"Like fate?"

Jensen shrugs noncommittally. "Maybe. More like, there's something connecting every moment in our lives, and our dreams are a shared thread that runs through them. Everything people experience is all tied together and reality just strings moments along into their proper places. I just... hoped dreams were meant to show us how it all connects."

"The meaning of life."

Jensen brings a hand up to rub at his face. "God, it sounds so... naive."

"I don't think it's naive. No man is an island, right?"

"John Donne." Jensen's looking at him again. "Right. Or Jung's collective unconscious. Dreamshare... I thought that was it. They'd finally figured it out, whoever 'they' are, scientists or biologists or whatever. We could enter that place where dreams live and find out what it all means. But... you know. It's not like that. It's still all in our heads."

"Not here," Jared says. It sounds muffled when he says it because of the blood rushing in his ears. "Here, it's both of us. Our collective subconsious." 

"You and me," Jensen says. He sounds a little terrified.

Jared gets up, slowly, like he's approaching a spooked horse; which is ridiculous, of course, because Jensen's not some skittish animal. He drops down next to him on the sand, doesn't say anything, just lets the sun wash over his skin.

"You and me," he mumbles, and when Jensen turns to look at him, he doesn't look back. He lets a smile curve over his face.

They've got time here, nothing at all but time. Jared thinks he could be okay with this just the way it is, watching Jensen open a door to him, letting him in. But he feels Jensen looking sometimes, quiet and curious, and he _knows_ there's something else there. They'll find it. Jared is patient; he can wait.

 

**September, 2011**   
**Los Angeles, California**

Jared wakes up in the dead of night. He's not sure what day it is, but Chad's still there, standing in the middle of Jared's kitchenette in his boxers. The tiny window by the cabinets has been thrown open, catching the smoke rising from the cigarette in Chad's hand. He's talking to someone on the phone, free hand gesturing in a way that tells Jared he's caught on to a conversation he can sink his teeth into. For Chad, that usually includes telling someone off or talking about a job, and Jared doesn't care to find out which it is in this case. The cigarette draws patterns in the air, Jared's sleep-addled brain trying to follow them.

"Chad," he croaks, and Chad turns on his heel to squint at him. He props the cigarette in his mouth, switching the phone from one ear to the next, and says, "He's awake. Yeah, man. Yep," then slips it back into his pocket. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Yeah. Why aren't you wearing pants?"

"Why don't you have any goddamn _food_ in this place, is what I wanna know."

"What? How long—how much did you give me?"

"Ten hours."

Jared sits up. " _Ten?_ God, no wonder." He presses the heel of his hand into his eye, forcing the bleariness away. The room bounces back into focus. His head is clear for the first time in a very long time. 

Five days he spent in that dream, and Jensen hadn't shown up once. 

Chad's moving around the apartment, balling up paper bags from the Chinese takeout down the block and tossing them haphazardly in the general direction of the garbage can, pulling on his jeans, muttering about the lack of air conditioning. Jared's skin feels sticky with sweat.  
"Uh, thanks, Chad."

"Man," Chad stubs his cigarette out in the sink, "don't even. I don't care what shit you went through, you can't go that long without dreaming."

Jared stares at the floor. This life he's carved out seems fine when it's just Jared and his demons, odd jobs to focus on. He's doing fine, he tells himself, and believes it's true. 

Just having a PASIV in his apartment throws everything into perspective, highlights the gaping holes in the wool he's pulled over his eyes. He's being chastised by _Chad_ , and feels it down to his bones. 

"I know. I won't," he mutters.

"No, Jay, you're not listening." Chad snaps the PASIV shut and then stands hovering over Jared's bed. He pulls a box of Marlboros out of his pocket and shakes one out. "I just called around about your boy."

Jared's blood drains to his feet. "What?"

"Mmhm. I hate to be the one to say it, I really do, but you've got to give it up. Just got off the phone with Kane; he says Ackles is getting married."

He isn't sure what sort of reaction Chad is expecting. Whatever it is doesn't matter, because Jared just nods. He feels oddly light, and wonders if it has something to do with finally getting proper sleep. Wonders if Jensen moving on is the reason he didn't show up in any of Jared's dreams.

"Is it Danneel?" he asks.

"Sure, if that's her name."

There's a silence in which Chad shifts his weight and Jared keeps his mind empty.

"Look, call me in a few days," Chad finally says, and Jared just nods to the floor. Chad's been gone for a few minutes at least by the time Jared finally stands, stretching.

It's not a conscious decision, but in less than fifteen minutes he has the entire apartment packed in a duffel bag, finding the money he had given Chad tucked neatly back into his dresser. He pockets it, uses the money to pay off the rest of his lease, and then Jared leaves California.

He goes back home, to Texas and the wide blue sky.

|||

_**7,015 days, 12 hours, 47 minutes** _

It's hard to call it a routine when there aren't any concrete ways of marking the passage of time. Sure, they've got a watch with hands and a face and everything, but what do those numbers even mean? Jared looks at it constantly, which is something Jensen doesn't understand. 

He had been working on the interiors of a row of café's and bookstores that he had built down in the city— _the_ city, which is a conglomeration of places they've been to in the past, but looks it mostly European. There's quite a bit of Taiwan stuck in somewhere, which Jared had spent far too much time perfecting, and certain districts Jensen built with Buenos Aires in mind, but most of the streets wind narrow with shops and cobblestones like England and France. After his interiors were done Jensen had shuffled back onto their beach to find Jared knee-deep in what can only be described as a moat, and Jared had popped open the watch and accused Jensen of being gone for _months_.

And so that's the routine, if it can even be called that. 

"I always wanted to be an architect," Jared had confessed, much earlier on.

"Yeah? You'd be great."

Jared had shrugged. "Maybe, but, you know. I like the dreams too much."

"Who says you can't be an architect and still dreamshare?"

Jared raised an eyebrow. "Would _you_ take your architect into the dream and risk the layout being compromised?"

"Are you kidding me? Not a chance."

Jensen had dodged a well-aimed kick for his trouble.

Here, though, Jared can do anything he wants. Jensen hadn't been lying: he would be a great architect. 

They're standing under the canopy of a cathedral that's so delicate Jensen's brain doesn't want to admit that it's real. Soundness of structure is no issue in limbo, and Jared apparently thinks that stained glass is both essential and capable of composing weight-bearing walls. Anything solid in the structure is a soft brick, crumbling at the edges; it looks as if Jared carved painted glass straight out of stone ruins.

Nothing is ancient here. There are no traces of age, or of people leaving their traces of life about the world. Jared would be able to tell with a glance at his watch how much time they have left, but for now Jensen is content to just wonder what their world will look like towards the end of it, whenever that comes: will it be something marked with people and movement, or something stale and crumbling?

The end of it. When they _wake up_. Maybe Jared will become an architect. He and Sandy would get along well.

The thought forces something loose in him.

Jensen thinks about his wants in abstract sort of way, like he's looking at himself through a film lens. There is the world, and the way people are; how they move in droves but for the most part stay in one place their whole lives; how they cling to one another and how Jensen is always the one who hangs back, watches the crowds from the corner. He wants good things for them, even if he doesn't want them for himself. Jensen has never wanted much.

Jared is inspecting one of the columns in the long row, looking at his own work in awe. Jensen will look at the things he himself creates most of the time and wonder if they can't be better, what he could have done differently; Jared sees his work as having become exactly it was supposed to be, flaws and all.

Jared catches him looking and smiles, a little twitch of the lips that acts more like a head nod than anything, just a _hey_.

No, Jensen has never wanted much. But he's beginning to suspect that he just never really knew what wanting meant, before.

"Jay."

"Hmm?"

"You asked me once," Jensen says, craning his neck up to see into the stained-glass rafters, "why dreamshare disappointed me." Jared doesn't say anything for long enough that Jensen has to look back at him, make sure he's listening. He is, hands in his pockets, waiting. "You never asked me why I keep coming back."

"Why's that?" Jared comes back to his side, standing too close, like always. 

"People. They're all different, they all want different things. They say deep down, we're all the same."

"Are we?"

Jensen shakes his head. "Look around you, man. This isn't my cathedral. I couldn't ever have created this."

Jared gives him a withering look, but concedes. "What's your point?"

"Think about it: the dreams are the same. We're all building from the same stuff. People are supposed to be different. People don't connect with each other because they are the same, the connect because they can relate. I go into a dream, and I know what to expect, because the architect has taught it to me, or I know what the dreamer is supposed to be dreaming about. But the mark? Is always unpredictable. Look at what Cassidy was hiding."

Something shifts in Jared's expression. He chews the corner of his lip. "Maybe people aren't as easy to understand as you think, Jen."

"What?"

"I just... look, I'm not trying to argue, but maybe people can be just as unpredictable outside of dreamshare as the marks are."

Jensen shakes his head. "No. No, Jared, don't. We have to—figure it out. Know ourselves. Otherwise—"

"Do you really know yourself, Jensen?"

Jensen stares. The silence between them is heavy, but he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. 

"Don't," he hedges. "Don't ask me that."

Instead of backing down and letting it drop, Jared moves closer, hovering. "Why not? Isn't that what you just said? You like the dreams because they're absolute. The world isn't made up of extremes, Jensen. You don't get to pick which end of the spectrum you're on. You don't get to just change who you are because you don't like the way your story is going."

"I didn't—what are you saying? That I should have been a victim or circumstance? I should have kept on being that kid who got his parents killed?"

He wants to not have said that. He shouldn't have, he _really_ shouldn't have said that. Jared says nothing for the longest time.

"Who were you, Jen? Why didn't you realize that the kid you were was stolen from you, not hidden?"

"I never thought it mattered." His voice is so small. Jensen grinds on his teeth in frustration. 

"You never thought... _you_ mattered?"

" _No_ , I—" Jensen doesn't want to be having this conversation anymore. "I was different. I don't know, I don't _know_ if it was the trauma that had anything to do with it, but I couldn't _change_ who I was. I could hide it, though. God, could I hide it."

Jared puts a hand on his shoulder then and he almost flinches away, but it's just a reassuring touch, Jared's large palm kneading the muscle. "D'you—?" he chances a look at Jared's face; his mouth is set and his eyes are wide, encouraging. "Do you know what I'm saying?"

Jared opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and closes it again. He shakes his head apologetically. "Does this have anything to do with... please, don't take this the wrong way, but you couldn't be that kid anymore so I have to wonder. Does this have anything to do with you being gay?"

"No," Jensen says. He shakes his head. "I mean, yes."

Jared's hand slides from his shoulder and trails away down Jensen's arm; he squeezes Jensen's wrist lightly and lets go, taking a step back. Giving him room to breathe. Jensen's stomach is doing some low, lazy flop, folding into itself. 

"Its... being gay, it's just something that's there. One of the things I'm not allowed to be."

Jared's quiet, chewing it over. "Why not?"

"I can't. I have to be...somebody else. I'm not like other people."

"So?"

"So? So who am I supposed to be, huh? Whoever that kid was that walked into that house, he isn't me anymore."

"But he can be."

Jensen rubs a hand over his mouth, turning away. 

"You can be!" Jared insists. "What, do you think that burying that kid is going to erase what happened? It's going to make what happened in there to you not matter anymore? Because you're wrong, Jen. Dammit, you're wrong. You know why you can't be like other people? Because you're trying so damn hard to be someone you're not! You can't jump into people's dreams and figure out what _you_ are supposed to think. It doesn't work that way. God, I could _kill_ them!" 

Jensen is gaping at Jared openly now. He's never seen this kind of anger from him. It seems like too much for him, makes him grim and sad in a way Jensen never expected to see Jared look, and if he's being honest, he never wants to see that again. 

Jared is thrown momentarily into thoughts beyond them, some vague anger directed at the men that not even Jensen has hated before—there was never room between the shock, the grief, to upheaval of his life into something dull and hidden. And just as quickly as his anger came, it's gone again, and Jared takes the two quick steps back to Jensen, reaching out this time to put a hand on the side of Jensen's neck, thumb brushing at the hinge of his jaw. "You don't have to hide from them, Jen. I've told you before that it's just us here, and I don't want to spend this dream with whatever shell of a person you _think_ you are. I want _you_. Just you."

Jensen vaguely expects himself to be sick at the thought, but something about the way Jared says that makes it so easy. He feels himself relax, his mind letting go of something he has held onto for far too long, the shield he shrouds himself under. He hears himself say "Okay," and then his eyes drop to Jared's mouth; he drags them back up to Jared's eyes. They look sad. Jensen reaches a hand between them, tugs at the buttons on Jared's shirt, and Jared falls forward, catching Jensen's mouth in a kiss.

It's soft—enough space for Jensen to back out; patient, gentle. But Jensen's no longer in the mood for gentle; there's something insistent pounding through him and he kisses back roughly, forcing Jared to take a step back, then another, until Jared tightens his grip on Jensen's hip and tugs his fingers into Jensen's hair. They bite at each other, neither one bothering to smooth over the sting, and Jared is giving back as much as he's taking, feeding into the obliterating feeling that has taken Jensen over.

He's aware of the way he keeps pushing, one of Jensen's hands around the wings of Jared's ribcage rough and unyielding despite the way Jared leans into him. He makes a noise like a growl and Jensen swallows it, tongue insistent against Jared's. He has to pull back for air and the fresh oxygen is dizzying, bright like the first burst of sunlight over the horizon.

Jared lets go of him pointedly, curving his body back and away but his feet stay in place—Jensen still has one hand wrapped in the front of Jared's shirt. He loosens his fingers but Jared's hands dart out to cover Jensen's before he can pull it away, and Jared just holds their fists between them, waiting for their pulses to slow. 

"It'll be okay, Jen," he says, voice heavy. "We'll be okay."

"Yeah." Jensen's voice is just as thick; he swallows, letting Jared's grip center him. "Yeah."

 

_**7,002 days, 11 hours, 2 minutes** _

They spend a lot less time building things after that. In fact they don't spend a lot of time doing much of anything other than this:

They're on the beach, as they so often are. Limbo is a wide open space, distance enough that they could spend lifetimes here and never meet, never even cross paths if they didn't want to. But it's this stretch of sand they end up on together, again and again.

They can't forget themselves. I they force themselves to heed a schedule, make themselves an end for their days, then it's harder to get swept away until they forget that this isn't the way the world has always been. Jared will meet Jensen here and hand over his totem, the watch that is rapidly becoming just as much a part of Jensen as it is a part of Jared, a part of limbo itself and a reminder of its impermanence. 

And every time Jensen reads it, he feels it: time is ticking.

Creation, as it turns out, is exhausting. Jared unceremoniously shoves the pocket watch into Jensen's hands when he shows up and then flops directly onto the sand, no room for a hello. Jensen's lips twitch up in a smile, quickly noting the time on the watch's countdown and joining Jared, the warmth of the sand beneath him and the sun above him, flaring red beneath his eyelids.

Jensen feels acutely aware of his body as his breathing slows, heart beating its own rhythm. The tide laps coolly underneath their bodies, steady, gentle. The sun warms his skin, skin that feels both stretched too tightly and loose at the same time. Jared's presence at his side is nearly as comforting as the warmth—natural. Jensen doesn't shy away, just lets the moment sink and sink.

He shifts his sun-weary arm about as much as it's willing to go, which is hardly a centimeter, and so when his fingers brush the back of Jared's hand, he touch is light, fragile. It feels just as natural as lying here does, and so his mind is pleasantly blank when he finally rolls himself onto his side, raises up and spreads out until he's got one hand on either side of Jared's head, hovering like he belongs there. 

Jared blinks up at him, a lazy smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Jensen pitches himself forward and eases down, fitting his mouth to Jared's like it's just _right_ , just what he needs to be doing right now, all other thoughts sleeping, out of focus, somewhere in the back of his head. The sun beats against his back, the kiss salty, languid. Jared parts his lips on a sigh. His tongue is just as warm and wet as everything else, the water still climbing up the beach to wash under Jensen's knees, unnoticed. 

Jared slides a hand up the slick skin of Jensen's back, large and comforting. Jensen can't suppress a shiver at the unexpected feeling of being safe, protected. He pulls back and Jared follows, catching Jensen's upper lip between his own for the barest of seconds, nudging gently with his nose. "Alright?" he says, and Jensen opens his eyes.

"Yeah." He shifts back anyway, dropping his forehead sideways onto his outstretched bicep.

"Takes a bit of getting used to."

"That's the thing," Jensen says from the shelter of his arm, a wry twist to his lips. "It doesn't."

Jared's grin is wide like a Cheshire cat, but his eyes are happy, thumb stroking in small circles where his hand still rests on Jensen's lower back. Jensen finds himself matching the grin, pulling back to shove Jared's shoulder into the sand.

"Don't look so smug."

Jared flips them before he even knows what he's doing, but there he is, Jensen beneath him with his chest heaving and his eyes wide and dark. Jared doesn't move, and they aren't touching anywhere but the skin of Jared's knees where they are brushing up against Jensen's hips. 

"Well then," Jensen remarks dryly, and Jared kisses him.

Jensen is lost to the heat and slide of lips and tongue, the kiss lazy and long. Jared nips and Jensen makes a low noise of approval. He can feel Jared's smile in his wide kiss. The sand shifts around his back, or maybe the sand shifts just to accommodate him, it's hard to tell, it doesn't really matter. There's not much that matters right now, only the comfortable space between him and the looming weight of Jared's body (one arm that sinks into the sand next to Jensen's shoulder, the upwards slope of Jared's back, the tilt of his hips), only the places where they touch and the places that they don't. Jensen lifts his fingers to feel along the edge of Jared's jaw as it moves, hit tongue slick on roof of Jensen's mouth. 

"Jared," he says when they break for air, only because they need to fill their lungs, "this is a dream."

"I know. I know."

Jensen's sudden urgency breaks the carefree laziness of the atmosphere, sharp and crisp in comparison. "Hey, don't let me forget, okay? Keep reminding me."

"I won't let you forget."

"Good. Because we have to wake up. If we don't, we never will."

"I know," Jared repeats, and lets his arm collapse so that he lies still and close against Jensen's side. "We won't forget. Besides, we have plenty of time."

"We do now. What about later?"

"Then we'll be prepared."

Jensen's breath is shallow, and he lies there sucking air in and out while Jared presses hisses to his jaw, slides a hand across his stomach. _Later._ It's a dangerous road he's on: he wants this to be real so badly that he can hardly recognize himself. Jensen has never wanted anything that he can't have, because he's never given in to the desire.

Jared hooks a leg over one of Jensen's and pulls himself back across Jensen's body, slow and deliberate so that Jensen can feel every pull of muscle, every small push of Jared's hip against his thigh, and then he stops thinking about it.

They lay like that. Jared makes tiny shifts under his weight every now and then. The sun beats down on them, thin sheen of sweat but that doesn't bother Jensen. He draws purposeless patterns in the sand until the tide rolls in, nudging at their feet. _There's a tide_ , Jensen thinks sluggishly. 

Jared stretches his arms above his head, pulling his muscles loose and Jensen rolls off to the side, mostly to catch his breath, trying not to think too hard about the way Jared pulled and loosened under him. The sun was starting to dip, and Jensen realized it was the first time he'd really seen the day change. He was suddenly very tired, and looked at Jared sharply.

"Dude. You're not forgetting, are you?"

"What? Nah." Jared smiles sleepily. "I just need something telling me time is passing, you know? Something that's not numbers and dials."

Jensen nods absently. It does feel like they've been living the longest day, and maybe it's the sun's influence but suddenly he just wants a bed, soft sheets, ocean breeze. He gets to his feet and brushes off sand, reaches out to help Jared up.

"I don't know about you, but I'm beat. What do you think will happen if we sleep?"

"Dunno," Jared says, cocking his head slightly to the side. "We're at the lowest level, so I think ...we'll sleep. Can't go any further, right?"

Jensen thinks about. He thinks about lying right back down on the sand and sleeping there, and his eyelids feel heavy with it. This is dangerous, he knows. The body works on its biological clock, but the mind doesn't need sleep the way the body does; it just needs dreams.

"Lets try it," he says, in spite of his worries. He's looking at Jared and thinking about what he wants, and whether or not it's something he can keep. He isn't sure. But right now he's being offered the chance of waking up in a real bed—something permanent, not the myriad hotel beds he ends up in in reality, the endless parade of unfamiliar sheets. He doesn't just want a bed. He wants a warm body, and nowhere to be.

Jared smiles unabashedly in a way that makes his cheeks look actually ridiculous, because how can somebody's dimples be that deep, and Jensen rolls his eyes. "C'mon, Jay. Bedtime."

A bed, sure, but not just that. For once, Jensen wants a home.

 

_**6,998 days, 6 hours, 53 minutes** _

Jensen can't pinpoint the moment when Jared's presence had gone from being a gentle constant tug on his subconscious to being a great heaving magnetism, but maybe it has something to do with collaborating this closely on the house. That, or the way being around Jared usually becomes being _surrounded_ by Jared, as in hands everywhere and no space between them.

All he's trying to do is decorate. Honestly.

They're arguing about wall color—never mind the fact that it is a more domestic task than all of the domestic moments of Jensen's life put together—and Jared says, "You're driving me crazy."

"What? Come on, it's just a house. We can change it if you don't like it. When can make two rooms that are exactly the same but for different wall colors, if blue offends you."

"No, Jensen," Jared says, and it's disarming, the way Jared can be laughing at him open and easy, but the touch of fingertips to Jensen's sides make Jensen jump like a Jared is a live wire. "You're driving me _crazy_ ," he says again, but in a way that makes Jensen shiver.

"Oh," he says, and then backs Jared into the very blue wall and begins pressing open-mouthed kisses onto his throat.

"No, see this is making it worse," Jared says. Jensen presses his thigh in between Jared's, just to prove a point.

Not that Jared had needed the bait. He pulls Jensen's head up and kisses him proper, which quickly becomes improper, because there is a lot more teeth involved than all that.

Eventually they pull back just far enough to catch their breath and end up breathing in each other's. Everything slows down as the adrenaline winds away; a minute goes by and Jensen lets his fingertips slip just under the hem of Jared's shirt, trying to ground himself, failing. Jared catches Jensen's lower lip gently between his own, so different from the touches of a minute ago, and then his tongue smoothes out over the swell of Jensen's lip before he bites down, just the barest pressure of teeth, holding there. 

Something about it is so reverent that Jensen can't help the curl of warmth in his belly. He presses his own tongue at the juncture of Jared's teeth until he opens, and then it's a slow burn between them that Jensen can't even pretend to ignore, doesn't want to; would never. Not this, the way Jared's skin feels against his palms as he lifts the other man's shirt over his head, or the way Jared's hands bracket Jensen's face once they're free, fingers curling in the short strands. Jensen keeps his own hands at the waistband of Jared's jeans, afraid to lose this rhythm, the voice in the back of his head that usually tells him he should _stop_ telling him instead to just _wait_ , just wait for now because they have plenty of time.

Jared's meeting Jensen's tongue with every pull, every slide, following his lead in a way that is maddening; Jensen's head is spinning in a way that kissing nobody ever has. He loops his fingers over the top of the waistband of Jared's jeans and pulls until their hips are flush, and the pressure makes Jared gasp, drop his mouth down to nip at the place where Jensen's neck curves into his shoulder. It makes Jensen wonder what else he can make Jared do, so he rolls his hips up and _god_ , that—Jared meets the next push of Jensen's hips with his own and Jensen can feel the length of him, already hard. He braces his hands on the wall to bracket Jared's head, leans back just long enough to look, pupils blown, watching Jared and rolling his hips with intent. There's a flare of self-conscious fear but it flickers out quickly as Jensen decides he doesn't care; he _wants_ Jared to look, even as he knows there's no going back from this.

Trying to keep his fingers still and sure, Jensen lets go of Jared's waistband and thumbs the button of his jeans open, fumbles only slightly with the zipper when Jared's eyes flicker. Jared fists his hands in the back of Jensen's shirt, hisses just slightly when Jensen's knuckles brush at him through his boxers. Jensen kisses him to distract himself, pushes the denim aside so that he can dip his fingers under the cotton. Jared makes a pleased sort of whimper into Jensen's mouth when he brushes over the tip of his cock, and it's encouragement enough that Jensen reaches down further, taking the heavy weight of him into his palm. 

Jared gasps in air and the warmth of his mouth is suddenly gone. "Jensen," he says, eyes squeezed shut as he turns his head away, and Jensen is too abjectly fascinated with the way Jared's jaw clenches when he pulls his hand up over his length that he almost misses the fact that Jared's trying to pull away.

"'S okay, isn't it?" he breathes out in a rush, panic edging out over the tightness in his voice. 

"Yeah, it's..." Jared pulls a shoulder back and wraps his fingers gently around Jensen's now-loose grip, careful not to put any more pressure on himself than is necessary—"God, it's more than okay, but I..."

"But what?" Jensen's starting to think maybe he's going about this all wrong, maybe he fucked up or Jared changed his mind about him, stupid fears that he knows are just anxiety talking but they keep on bursting in his mind anyway. Jared must pick up on it in the tone of his voice, because he finally looks back, a tiny bit more rationality in his eyes than before.

"If we're going to do this, we can't—I don't want us to do this halfway. I want..."

Jared lifts their hands away slowly, presses them onto the soft vee of skin below his waist, chest expanding as he holds his breath.

"What?"

"I want _you_ , Jen. Not just... I don't want this to just be _sex_ , okay?"

Jensen relaxes, lets Jared hold his hand where it is pressed between them. He lifts his free hand from Jared's jeans and rests it alongside his hip, rubs circles with his thumb. "I never thought it was," he confesses.

Jared brightens. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Neither of them say anything for a long moment, and then Jared lets go of Jensen's hand, grips the bottom of Jensen's shirt and lifts it, off over his head, his arms, and Jensen watches Jared's eyes slip back down over his body, both terrified and thrilled at what he sees in them. Jared leans back in to press his mouth to the spot his teeth had been earlier, there on Jensen's shoulder, and Jensen can't help the small shiver that works its way down his back. Jared rocks his hips forward and the pressure on his dick has Jensen's head swimming again. His hands slip around to Jared's lower back and they can't keep this up; Jensen doesn't want to, too many layers between them for it to be anything more than rubbing off. 

Jensen takes a deep breath and reaches up, buries a hand in Jared's hair and presses his shoulders up into Jared's; it takes moving his other hand around to Jared's stomach for him to notice, to relent and lean away, Jensen going with him, slipping his hand up over Jared's chest and around this neck so that he has both hands in his hair. Jensen pulls Jared's mouth to his and hopes he has his balance, or that Jared has Jensen's balance, and somehow he knits together the strength of mind to change things. The wall they were leaned against is gone suddenly; the two of them stumble just slightly and readjust their weight; Jared pulling back to laugh at Jensen's ingenuity and Jensen's quirking a smile back at him, leaning in to kiss that mouth, feel the new pulse between them. 

And then there's suddenly a bed, at which Jared pulls away from Jensen to raise his eyebrows, but Jensen is already attempting to suck at Jared's jaw and clamber onto the bed at the same time, which is rather distracting. 

The thing about it is, once Jensen's mind starts skipping logistics—changing the dream based on a thought instead of going through the motions—it's hard to go back. He's struggling to keep his mind on where he is _now_ instead of where he _wants to be_ , but the end result is that neither of them have to bother with zippers and buttons, and before he realizes what has happened, Jensen has Jared's heaving chest under his hands. 

"C'mon. C'mon _c'mon,_ " Jared is panting. Jensen rubs a hand down his thigh.

"I don't," he starts, "ah," and then Jared smiles, something far too calm for the way Jensen's heart is going, and says, "here."

"Oh," Jensen says, when Jared's fingers slip-catch his own, and then " _oh,“_ when Jared slides them between his legs, head tipping back in a groan.

"This is kind of ridiculous," Jensen murmurs, only paying half-attention to what he's saying as he watches his fingers disappear into Jared, who laughs incredulously, and then hisses. 

"My dream too," Jared says, and the catch in his voice does things to Jensen he wouldn't expect from this conversation. "I can skip the lube if I damn well please." Jensen watches as the push and pull of his fingers makes Jared clench his jaw, breathing out in shudders until his hips buck up, seemingly of their own accord. "Jen," he says, fumbling with his hand until his fingers graze at Jensen's wrist. "Okay, okay."

Jensen isn't sure what to do with his hands, one of them tangling wetly with Jared's fingers as they slide off his wrist, wind themselves into the sheets. He's nervous now for the first time, and Jensen doesn't know why, but he feels somehow that he has to make up for it. Jensen hooks a hand under Jared's knee and he lifts them, head back on the pillow but he's meeting Jensen's eyes, something in them that Jensen can't read—maybe awe, maybe just _finally_ , _what took us so long?_

Jensen presses in slowly, biting the insides of his cheeks at the pressure. Jared stretches and keens, his shoulders arching off the bed in a way that makes Jensen want to touch; when he leans forward enough to press his teeth to Jared's collarbone his vision sparks. 

He rocks back slightly and is rewarded with Jared's hands scrabbling on his back, one hand snaking up to grip sharply at Jensen's hair. Jensen's heart seems to be beating big and slow, the heat around him blending pleasure into pain when Jared begins to move when he moves.

" _Fuck,_ Jared I... fuck," is all he can say, and so he tucks his head into Jared's shoulder and lets his attention narrow down to all the places they're touching, inside and out, wondering too: _what took us this long, what took me so long_.

And then Jared shifts his hips in a way that has Jensen's vision going again, and after that the whole rhythm is off in the best of ways, Jared's fingers still tangling in his hair. Jensen pulls back to look Jared in the eye, both of them losing focus, and so he wraps a hand around Jared's cock and Jared's whole body tightens underneath him right before he comes. It's Jared's free hand, sliding distractedly down Jensen's ribcage while Jared is coming down, that sends Jensen following after.

He tries to think when it's over but he finds it difficult, dangerous. Jared's body is relaxing around him and Jensen takes it as a cue, hopes that he's not too heavy when he lets his body fall. For a long while the only sound is their breathing, those sounds too winding down until Jensen's body, paradoxically, begins to demand sleep.

"Jay," he says in what doesn't even sound like his own voice, but Jared quietly _hmm?_ s in response.

"It's all in our heads."

Jensen waits, but finally Jared's silence has him pulling back, gently shifting his weight so that he's holding himself up, watching Jared's face for a response. He hadn't meant it as a question, but suddenly it was, and suddenly Jared's answer meant _everything_.

"Yes," Jared finally says. He slides his free hand up Jensen's chest, cups it around the nape of his neck, thumb settling over Jensen's jaw. "But what isn't?"

 

**June 21, 2010**   
**New York City**

It's different, out here. Being in limbo had felt a little bit like... well, like living in a utopia. Sure, utopias don't actually exist—which is why, Jensen thinks, everything went to hell so easily. There's something to be said about sharing a subconscious. It's not like Jared was in his head every moment, crowding around in there or anything; it was more like this constant presence, same as waking up in the dark and knowing that if he turns over there's going to be a solid weight there, someone grounding him to the here and now.

Then there's the different ways he misses him. Before, it was about pushing away his memory completely, trying and failing to convince himself that nothing had actually happened; that limbo was going to slip away as easily as dreaming used to be before the dreamshare. Fleeting, snatches of visions transposed on the background of reality, gone just as soon as he stopped trying to hold on. He was wrong.

This is a new kind of loneliness. This is knowing exactly where Jared is and wanting to be there, unable to just will himself there with a half-formed thought like it had been in limbo. This was anticipation. He wants to call Jared's cell phone because he misses his voice, like a love-sick teenager. And maybe he was, maybe that's just what Jared brought out in him. He couldn't have noticed it in limbo. He didn't even know what he had given up, that day in the warehouse when he told Jared he couldn't do it, couldn't be that person. And that's the truth—Jensen is not who he was in limbo, and he never will be. He was just wrong about the changes. It's not being with Jared that terrifies him, it's losing Jared. It was always about losing him, or losing himself, giving up what he had been clinging to because without that identity, he was nothing. He was nobody. He was a queer kid whose parents were dead and nothing could change that, nothing could ever undo that. Jared helped him realize that erasing those parts of himself wasn't the answer. You can ignore something all you want, but that doesn't make it go away. That doesn't make it not true.

So what has to change is Jensen. He's the only one who can claim himself. It's easier to look at Jared and think I'm in love with him, that man over there, he's everything than it is to think I'm gay, but the first statement makes the second one true. It's not being gay that's the problem. The problem is that he can't ignore it, but he won't embrace it, either. 

It's time to let that all fall away. To stop thinking about what's real and what isn't; who he is and who he thinks he is. There's truth, and there's deception. Jensen wants Jared, and it can be as simple as that, if he wants it to be. 

And he does.

He wants it to be just that simple. 

|||

The problem with this place— _reality_ , Jensen has to keep reminding himself—is that it's exactly the same as it was before. It's like being thrown back into the worst days of his life, the old Jensen that he doesn't want to _be_ anymore, trapped and terrified like a dog backed into a corner. 

Dreaming is his only saving grace. He doesn't have to be himself at all, and each dreamscape feels like starting fresh. Only he keeps waking up.

It's dangerous, skipping from team to team. He's heard the stories about the fucked-up Chemists, dropping people into comas or worse, everyone trying to capitalize on sedative-enhanced dreams and the possibilities they offer. Six months ago Jensen was roped into trying inception, and that failed so spectacularly that he'd had to hide in Peru for six weeks, working the docks for money because it was too risky to try any of his bank accounts. Sweating under the sun had been good, clarifying, stretched his muscles until they burned and sleeping was almost good enough that he felt rested in the mornings, dreams or not. None of the guys he worked alongside knew who he was. Jensen spoke enough Spanish to get by, but there on the coast the language's subtle differences were enough so that he could keep up pleasantries with the guys, but neither party expected any more than that. It was nice. He could be himself, unchecked, in a way that he hadn't been since limbo. Since Jared.

He'd gone home to Danneel, searching for that comfort. It had taken him three days to realize that the tightness in her jaw when she spoke and the forced banter between them was because she had been terrified for him. Nobody he'd worked the inception job with could be tracked down and nobody else had seen him in two months, a fact that dawned like horror. 

Two weeks later he proposed, and she'd clutched the ring in her palm so tightly the diamond made an imprint on her skin. "I thought you'd never ask, Ackles," she had said, and if there had been sadness in her voice rather than sarcasm, well, Jensen pretended he didn't hear it.

 

_**4,396 days, 2 hours, 19 minutes** _

Jared wanders among the stacks, each crisp spine lettered by subject, organized in the way only his head can understand. He'd built this place from the inside out, arched ceilings and elegant bookshelves, simplistic architecture. It's not the outside that counts, it's what he has filed away: things he knows; things he doesn't; half-formed thoughts and ideas that might never make sense, but he wants to be able to come back to them, just in case. 

Pulling out a book labeled _School—University—Architecture_ , Jared flips through to the fundamentals. He has every intention of breaking them all, sick of buildings that make sense. This same volume is shelved in _Architecture—Education—Basics_ because just like everything else, there isn't a rhyme or reason to the way thoughts move. If being here has taught him anything, it's that thoughts can travel unpredictable as lightning, jumping from cloud to cloud. Math, physics; it's all just a way of making sense out of the chaos. None of that exists here, or at least it doesn't have to. Jared intends to take full advantage of that.

Reading the book is more a process of remembering things he already knows, so it doesn't take long to flip through it. He shelves it and winds his way back toward the exit. Down one row, across two more and Jared takes a detour, heading down another row of shelves instead of straight down the aisle. The books lined up here are a little worse for wear, creases in the spines and glossy letters worn down to a dull shine. He doesn't linger. Jared walks straight ahead, one hand trailing along the edges of the books as he goes, each one of them labeled _Jensen, Jensen, Jensen._

It's about time he went home.

|||

The thoroughfare is abuzz on a day like this, everything more colorful and the air a little breezier. It's surprising how many flower carts there are—hyacinths in all sizes and colors seem to be the favorite. There are kids chasing each other around a fruit kiosk, apples bobbing in their cradles when the boy's shoulder clips it on the way past. Nobody bothers Jensen sitting at a sidewalk coffee shop, drinking something black and earthy.

He's trying to read the book on the table. It's one he swears he's never read before, but the plot sounds like something he might have read in high school. Maybe a little less boring. The main character is eerily similar to Jason Bourne back when Jason Bourne had no idea who he was, which is a little strange if he thinks about it. Probably why his mind has come up with this scene—looks like it could be anywhere outside of Paris, but that family over there is speaking German. Jensen sips his coffee. He's been here for three weeks, or whatever amounts to three weeks in here. He doesn't have Jared's watch. 

Jensen doesn't feel the need to sleep when things get like this. Doesn't eat much either, come to think of it, and he can't remember ordering the coffee anyway. He's got to keep on reminding himself that this isn't reality, and the best way to do it is to ignore basic human needs. 

He gives up on the book when he recognizes the plot of _Fahrenheit 451_ in there somewhere. It's too easy to remember these things; nothing ever sticks on the tip of his tongue. Everything is retrievable here. He can't make himself forget, and the words of novels or scenes in movies never really come as a surprise. Who knew the subconscious stored all that information? Jensen taps his fingers against the tabletop, wondering for the thousandth time whether or not he's going to remember any of this when he wakes up. Maybe it will all just slip away, stored so deep in his mind that he can't get it back, gone along with the memories of childhood or idle conversations with strangers.

Projections rove by in front of him, lingering like bumblebees at this vendor or that before ambling along to the next, and before he knows it Jensen's eyes are following a man through the crowd, shaggy brown hair and a quick smile. Jared passes him by and the kid from before barrels right into his legs, shouting a "Sorry mister!" before scuttling off. It's enough of a distraction that Jared looks up, sees Jensen sitting there and rolls his eyes, picking his way to the sidewalk. He slumps down in the empty chair across from Jensen and sighs.

"Took you long enough," Jensen says.

"Got distracted."

"Doing what? Building the city of Atlantis? Turning the house upside down? Making skyscrapers with no walls and a water slide down to the bottom?"

"You're funny. No, you're hilarious, dude, did anyone ever tell you that?" Jared snatches up the book Jensen had been reading, hiding his face behind it. Jensen can still see him smiling. 

"Let's get out of here," he says.

Jared looks at him from over the top of the book. "Dude I just got here. I haven't eaten yet, I'm starving."

"No you're not."

"But I love this place! It has the best crumpets."

"Crumpets? Seriously? Yeah, no, we're leaving."

Jensen pushes his chair back and Jared follows, complaining about how he'd already eaten everything imaginable and so he _demanded_ that Jensen give him some new memories of food to try, but Jensen ignores him to the point where Jared is just laughing, dodging children and dogs as they move through the crowds.

"You're ridiculous," Jensen says. Jared agrees easily, then settles into his long-strided walk alongside him. They could just _go_ , all it takes is half a thought and they're home. Jensen wonders in an abstract sort of way how long they'd been gone this time—the longest he'd ever gone was seven months once, but Jared had obviously found something better to do. Or build, he should say. Jensen couldn't be his _only_ project, surely.

In any case, they walk, because they can. Jared bumps gently into him while he sidesteps a fruit stand, and the next time he drifts close enough, Jensen reaches out to link their fingers. The crowd roves around them. They roam the busy streets—together, and completely alone.

 

_**3,452 days, 7 hours, 42 minutes** _

The house is alive with brightness. Sunlight floods through the rooms, illuminates the walls and floors and creates only the softest shadows; it breathes, vibrates; it's life and warmth and soft summer haze. Walls that should be strong and enforced are made of only glass, clear as absence.

At first, they only dreamed of perfect temperatures. Neither was ever too warm or too cold; even when Jensen dreamed of thrashing storms and bright, intense lightning, rain pounding hard against the roof and sliding down all of the window-walls, the temperature never changed.

Comfort is impossible without discomfort. Jensen longed for the glass to be cool under his palm as the rain slipped down in waves, catching on moonlight and casting the entire house in an under-water haze, and so it was. Nights became cool enough for them to wrap their bodies in soft comforters and blankets and each other, to warm their cold toes amongst soft sheets and warm calves. Days became hot enough that the ocean's call became a siren song, providing relief in the cool shallows.

The morning sunlight across the kitchen floor is just warm enough that the wood feels cold under their bare feet. Jensen rediscovers Jared's mouth, a cavern of warmth, and when Jared rests the heels of his hands atop Jensen's hips, the cold shock of fingertips settling against his ribs sends a shiver down Jensen's spine. 

Every day—or whatever constitutes a day, here—they plan out their mornings, never minding that "morning" is arbitrary and sometimes they last for days. Sometimes they never get there at all. They go their separate ways, a thought here, and idea there, but they always return to each other. They often end up in the surf. There's a heady sense of potential there, embodied in the scent of sea salt on the air. The horizon stretches on and on. Jared wonders, sometimes, what's on the other side of the ocean. He could create it, he knows, whatever it is. But right now it's a blank canvas, both existing and not existing, and he likes it that way. It's not what it _is_ that is important, but what it could be.

Jared knows exactly how limited their time will be, but he has no worries about running out. Waking up will be a change—unlike this place, it will be a challenge, and one that he's more than ready to face.

 

**January 14, 2010**   
**San Antonio, Texas**

He's cramming groceries into the tiny trunk of the piece of shit Jared calls a car when his phone buzzes. It takes him a second to realize that it _is_ his phone, because it hardly ever rings. Only two people have the number: work and Chad, neither of whom Jared wants to talk to right now.

He slams the trunk closed and fishes the phone out of his pocket, fingers knocking against the other glorified time piece there, but the pocket watch Jared ignores. The cell phone is displaying an unrecognized number.

"Hello?" he says, and a woman on the other line says, "Jared Padalecki?" and he fumbles with his keys.

"Uh, yeah. How did you get this number?"

Silence for a moment, and then, "It was... passed down to me. Mr. Padalecki, I need to speak with you in person if at all possible."

"Well that depends. I never share my presence with unnamed strangers that call me in parking lots, you know how it is."

"Danneel. Danneel Harris."

He nearly drops the phone.

And that is how, nearly a week later, Jared finds himself at a restaurant nice enough that he's had to tuck the tags back into his suit jacket so he can return it later and still make rent at the end of the month. The maître'd leads him to his table, set on the middle of the floor in a low-lighted dining room.

Amongst the din of forks against plates and the clink of wine glasses, Jared meets Danneel for the first time and thinks, _oh_.

She is, of course, lovely. She looks like she belongs here, one of those women who seem to just wake up every morning the picture of beauty. Jared had lived this lifestyle once well enough to blend in now, but he's actually nervous when he sits down, feeling completely out of his element.

"Ms. Harris," he says, extending a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

She smiles easily and returns his handshake. "Danneel, please."

He doesn't know what makes him say it, but as he sits down Jared flashes a smile and says, around the tightness in his throat, "Congratulations on your engagement."

Her smile, unexpectedly, turns sad. She reaches for the water glass in front of her and as she raises it to her lips, Jared notices that she isn't wearing a ring.

"I would thank you, but unfortunately the engagement has been called off."

Jared's gaping at her, he knows, but his head is spinning a little so he can't be held responsible for that. "I'm sorry to hear that," he says, quieting down the part of his brain that sounds like a thirteen year old girl and is most certainly _not_ feeling lighthearted and optimistic.

Jensen's life does not concern Jared anymore. He should believe his own words.

"Mr. Padalecki—"

"Jared."

"—Jared. Please don't misunderstand me when I say this, but I am _not_ sorry."

"Excuse me?"

Her hands fall to her lap. "I was the one that called it off."

Jared doesn't say anything.

"I wasn't going to marry that boy if it wasn't what he wanted. I've known for a long time that   
it was never going to be me, and I can't pretend that marrying Jensen would be the best decision for us. That's why I'm here talking with you, Jared. He'll never let himself have what he wants, I'm sure you understand."

He does, but Jared's brain is so frantically playing catch-up that he can't even respond. All he comes up with is, in a voice much smaller than he intends, "You know. About the—dream. Me and Jensen."

"Don't be ridiculous," she says. "Of course I know."

The waiter interrupts her at that, filling first her wine glass and then his. Jared keeps his eyes on Danneel as she smoothes the napkin on her lap, the fall of her long hair nearly hiding the resigned expression on her face. Jared has always known that Jensen wouldn't love her without reason, but even still, he apparently didn't give her enough credit.

"He loves you, you know."

She nods. "He does. He would never do anything to hurt me, and he will never let me down. And I love him for it."

"But?"

"But he's miserable, Jared." She meets his eyes across the table, silent pleas that Jared can't commit to.

"Why're you telling me this?" He asks, quietly. He always did let the Texas drawl slip when under emotional stress.

"He's stubborn. I could tell him that I know, I could ask him to leave but he wouldn't. I left _him_ , and he just blamed himself. But you," her voice breaks, and they both ignore it, "you could convince him to put his happiness first. You did it once."

Jared's already shaking his head. "That was different. That wasn't real, it was in our heads. If he's going to change his mind, he's going to do it on his own terms. I wouldn't ever force Jensen to do anything, even if it's in his best interest. Please, don't ask me to."

She nods, fingers skimming over the curve of her wine glass. "I think I know what he sees in you, Jared Padalecki."

He doesn't know what to say to that. He settles, finally, on "Likewise," earning him a wry smile. It's beautiful, and nearly as heartbreaking as the uncertainty he used to see in Jensen's eyes, at the beginning. Always standing in the way of his own happiness.  
She kisses his cheek softly when they part. He feels it lingering on his skin all the way back to his apartment.

_**124 days, 18 hours, 3 minutes** _

Jensen is leaning over a steaming mug of coffee on the kitchen counter, damp-haired and damp-skinned from his shower when Jared returns from his morning run. The doorknob jitters before it opens and the door slams soundly shut, Jared's shoes hit the floor with a double _thump_ and then he's there in the kitchen, louder and larger than life. He's still panting when he wraps his long arms in a loose circle around Jensen's waist, laughing a hot _good morning_ into his shoulder. 

"Get _off_ me, you giant," Jensen starts, ducking away, "you're covered in sweat!"

But he's grinning and Jared laughs, shakes his sweaty hair like a dog and laughs louder when Jensen jumps out of the way. "What? You love it."

"I do _not—_ " and he twists away from Jared's advances, his sweat-sticky arms. "Jared, you're disgusting, I just took a shower!" Jared grins wickedly and runs his hands through Jensen's clean hair before Jensen can get away, then scoots for the staircase when he starts batting him away with his hands, muttering _nasty_ , mouth stretched into a grin as he says it.

"Funny," Jared calls as he goes, stepping backwards up the stairs, "you didn't seem to mind being all sweaty last night."

"Oh fuck you, man!" 

Jared turns and jogs up the stairs, two at a time, laughing. He peels of his soaked-through shirt and lets it drop in a heap on the floor, pulling his keys and cell phone out of his pocket . 

And there, _oh_ —Jared's fingers wrap around the familiar metal casing of his pocket watch. He sets it gently on the dresser, the thrill of exercise still oddly thrumming through his veins. His heart is working too hard just for him to be standing there, breathing in and out, fingers tapping softly on the edge of the watch.

It tells him nineteen years and eight months gone. It tells him four months left. Jensen is shuffling around downstairs; Jared's heart is pumping thick blood through his body. He smiles, taps his finger on the face of the clock. Only four more months.

 

_**0 days, 0 hours, 15 minutes** _

"You know what I miss?" 

"Hm?" Jensen says. He keeps his eyes trained on the skyline.

"Music."

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "We have music here, dude. Well, had."

"No! I mean, like," Jared waves his hands around vaguely, "new music. Stuff we didn't make up. I miss all that."

Jensen doesn't mention it, but Jared seems positively _giddy_ about this whole waking up business. They're sitting on the highest skyscraper they thought was reasonable—which is pretty damn high, but warm, and they might be sitting in rickety lawn chairs at great heights but Jensen doesn't feel any danger. 

He had wanted something quiet. Jared's constantly teasing him about being a homebody never made Jensen any less inclined to just explore the world right outside their windows. Jared, on the other hand, wanted skyscrapers. Jared wanted precarious buildings and impossible geometry. Right now, at this moment—he glances at the stopwatch sitting open between them, counting down their remaining twelve minutes—he wants whatever Jared wants.

"And movies. You know I haven't seen a play since I was researching a job, like, three months before all this? We should see something when we get back."

"We didn't go anywhere." Jensen smiles, keeping Jared in the corner of his vision.

"You know what I meant."

It _was_ a pretty good idea, Jensen had to admit. Sitting up high, watching their creations all turn to rubble. Fitting, Jensen thinks. It's very fitting. He leans back in his chair and thinks about how much it's going to suck to have to worry about sunblock again.

"Jay?"

Jared slides down lower in his chair and matches Jensen's position, head lolling to the side to get a better look. "Yeah?" he answers, wearing his secret smile.

"Tell me this is a dream."

Jared's face softens in recognition. He reaches a hand out, just barely touching his fingertips to Jensen's jawline before letting it drop. "This is a dream," he obliges, but he's smiling, boyish, carelessly happy.

"Remember that, okay?" Jensen says quietly, trying to remember to look at the skyline—why had he looked away?—but unable to stop looking at Jared. It's like reading a dog-eared book with a sad ending and hoping that it changes, hoping that the bad guys don't get them or that the characters realize they're in love before it's too late to stop hurting each other: no amount of hoping will change that ending. No matter how hard your heart is beating in your throat when you turn the page; no matter how many times you close the book before it's over. 

It always ends this way.

"Five minutes," Jared announces. He considers the pocket watch for a second, and then closes it very carefully. 

Neither of them remembers who went under first. The split second it might take for one person to fall asleep sooner than another, for the drug to work its way through someone's veins, hardly ever matters. But time is so slow here. Milliseconds become seconds. That's time enough.

They sit in silence after that. Jensen tries to remember every detail, but like any other memory it's impossible to truly capture. This is what he's thinking when, far below, the ground rumbles and the skyscraper sways, and when he looks beside him, Jared is gone. 

The buildings in the distance fall like dominoes. Jensen hears the shattering of glass and the screech of metal and is glad that he didn't have to see any of the places he held dear fall to pieces after all. Jared was right again.

The last thing he remembers about limbo is his surprise at noticing how little the horizon line actually changes—that mountain, this building, that copse of trees: they were all his, and they're still standing strong, even without Jared's vision holding them up.

As it turns out, waking up is exactly like falling asleep.

|||

 

**November 22, 2009**   
**Lower Manhattan, New York**

"Fuck." 

It's Chad, staring at Jared with wide eyes. "Fuck," he says again, bringing a cigarette to his lips, fingers shaking. He struggles to steady them long enough to inhale, takes a long drag and begins pacing.

"What's your name? Hey." Jared snaps his eyes to where Chris is looming over his chair, lets them focus and then immediately turns his head to the right, where he knows—

But the chair next to him is empty. Jared breathes a sigh of relief and struggles to sit up, peering around Chris. "Where's Jensen?"

"He's fine, he's right over there; man, what's your name?"

"Huh? Jared, it's Jared, I'm fine, I promise." There—Jensen's got his back to them, Misha holding on to one shoulder and muttering quickly while Jensen nods. Jared moves to sit up, but Chris is back with a hand pushing his chest firmly down onto the chair.

"Hold up. Jared, look at me." Jared tears his eyes away from Jensen's back and focuses them reluctantly on Chris's face. "Tell me, it this reality?"

"Yes." Jared's sure of it, no need to feel for the familiar weight of his grandfather's pocket watch. He knows it will be still and silent. Chris thins his lips, searching for any sign of uncertainty, then finally lets up. 

"Okay. You're damn lucky, man, both of you. Chad saw your bodies in there, we were all sure you two would have the mental function of a turnip right now."

Jared nods sympathetically, pushing himself to his feet. Chad is there in an instant, poking his cigarette-laden fingers hard into Jared's chest. "You need to be more fucking _careful_ next time, man! I thought you were _done for._ You goddamn _asshole_."

"I'm fine, Chad," Jared says. Flippant as he is, Chad lets a guy know when he's scared the living crap out of him.

His shouting grabs the attention of the two men Jared's been keeping in the corner of his eyesight, and Jensen turns to watch. His eyes lock on Jared's and for a moment he looks relaxed, comfortable standing there in his own skin. He smiles. Jared's own smirk freezes on his face—that's not genuine. That's the Jensen he hardly remembers, the one from the early days, hiding behind a fake smile. 

And then Jensen turns, just like that, and takes a step towards the door.

Jared steps away from Chad, effectively cutting off his diatribe to call Jensen's name. He stops, the line of his shoulders stiff, and turns again to Misha.

"Can we have a minute?" Jared hears him say, "We've been through a lot." 

Misha nods and jerks his chin in Chris's direction. Even Chad goes, but not before giving Jared a wounded look, like he owes him something. Jared can't ignore the tight knot winding itself up in his stomach.

Then they're alone. The warehouse seems both huge and confining all at once. 

"Jen," Jared says. It comes out small, almost like a question, almost like a prayer.

Jensen turns to face him at that, like he can't help it, but he fixes his stare somewhere over Jared's right shoulder. "Look," he starts, "Jared—"

"No." Suddenly his conviction is back. There's no begging here, no room for it, there can't be. There just can't. "No, Jensen, don't do this," he says.

Jensen heaves a sigh, licks his lips and looks anywhere but at Jared—his shoes, Jared's shoes, the rafters, the empty chairs. "Come on, Jared," he says eventually, quiet so that Jared has to strain to hear him. "This isn't limbo. We can't— _I_ can't do this, you knew that."

"What the fuck are you talking about? This wasn't—did that mean anything to you? Any of it? Because you can't lie to me, man. I know you. I know you don't want to walk away from me right now."

Jared keeps his voice strong and defensive, but he's having a hard time believing even himself. Who was he to think he could ever be worth... that Jensen would just uproot his life to be with him? Here, in the real world. _No, no, no._ It had all sounded so easy in Limbo. Easy, just like their relationship had been, like breathing. Like dreaming. Oh, _god,_ what was wrong with him?

Jensen says, "I'm sor—"

Jared crosses to him in long strides, hands finding the collar of Jensen's shirt, the one he had been wearing all those years ago—no; hours, today, not years at all—he can almost remember the wet heaviness of the fabric when he had hauled Jensen out of the surf, onto the shore of their creation.

"Look at me, man, just look at me and tell me that you don't want this."

Jensen closes his eyes and moves smoothly away, Jared's fingers slack on his shirt. His tongue feels like sandpaper.

"I have a life back home, Jared. I can't just... I have to go. I'm sorry." He hesitates. Deliberates, draws in a breath and Jared can see the knit of his eyebrows in the tilt of his head. "Thanks, Jared. I hope you... yeah. I'll see you, okay?"

He waits, maybe for an answer, maybe for Jared to grab him again, draw him in and take that taste of reality. For a moment Jared thinks maybe he will. Just one more _no_ , one more _please stay_ , that's all it will take. But Jared says nothing, does nothing. He feels weightless. 

The moment is passing, and then it's gone, and Jensen is walking toward the door and it's like he's taking everything with him. Years, words, kisses. A lifetime. 

Something unravels in Jared's chest , loosening up and hitching apart so quickly that it leaves him raw and exposed. The door clangs shut. The sound of its echo reverberates in Jared's hollow.

He's left with an empty room, seven chairs surrounding a metal briefcase, tubes still trailing on the ground like entrails. Jared resists the urge to rip them out of the PASIV, pour Somnacin out onto the concrete, watch the pool spread like spilled blood. 

Jared isn't sure how long he stands there. It's the first time in what feels like a lifetime that he doesn't feel it tugging him along. It's this thought that brings it crashing back down on him. His watch weighs heavy in his pocket. Suddenly its existence grates on him; he wants to crush it in his grip, grind it down until it's weightless and spills through his fingers like dust. 

He leaves it, does his best to ignore it, heads toward the door and doesn't think about Jensen, not once. The door drifts shut behind him. Chad is there nursing another cigarette, waiting up against the doorframe. 

"Was it a success?" Jared asks, because it's the only safe thought he has.

Chad lets smoke trail out of his mouth. "Wasn't easy." 

Jared nods, curls his fists into the pockets of his jacket. "I wonder how long I can live off my share," he says.

"Long enough until the next job, at least. Maybe even through the next few."

"There aren't going to be any more jobs, Chad."

" _Bullshit_." Chad explodes like a roman candle, both expected and shocking at the same time. "I don't know what the fuck went on down there, but you're not quitting for that asshole, man."

Jared can't look at him. This place is ugly, and he can't change it. God, this hallway alone: whoever designed it had the imagination of a pea. Practicality be damned. Jared breathes in slowly through his nose, trying and failing to ground himself in the here and now. He'll have to get used to it, because he can't imagine getting through a job without wanting Jensen there. They were going to be great together. They were going to be unstoppable, the trust between point man and extractor unshakeable. The rock in the pit of his stomach is suddenly hard to breathe around.

"Watch me," he tells Chad coldly.

"You telling me you can still dream without Somnacin?"

"No. I'll... Chad. I can't go through that again."

Chad sighs, but doesn't say anything. They stand there in silence for a few inhales of Chad's cigarette, smoke rising and dissipating in the narrow space, and then he turns to Jared with one hand outstretched, the other in his pocket.

"It was good working with you, then. You were annoying as fuck, but a hell of a point-man, Jared."

"Thanks," Jared says, chuckling darkly. He takes Chad's hand, shakes once, and that's that. He has no idea where he's going to sleep tonight, and no idea how much of his sanity he'll stand to lose before he's forced to dream again, but he doesn't really have a choice, does he? It's this, or it's dreaming on his own. He'll just have to get used to living half a life. This is reality. 

 

_**2 days, 9 hours, 6 minutes** _

He doesn't memorize the shape of Jensen's body, or the way his arm fits across Jensen's hips, the wide span of his fingers across so much skin, the flat plane of Jensen's lower back—

(Smooth skin, so much softer than anything he can even dream of; he is here and it's not real not even Jensen is real but he could never imagine anything softer than the slide of skin against someone else's skin against _Jensen's_ skin and that is how he knows, he knows this is a dream because nothing can feel like this in reality and he knows this is real because his mind cannot make this up, but _this is a dream_ Jensen reminds him _we're dreaming_ and Jared never knew the depths of his own subconscious.) 

He doesn't memorize the feel of Jensen's hair under his nose, and he doesn't memorize the exact rhythm of Jensen's breath on his neck while he sleeps and cannot dream because they already are, and so dreams of reality. Jared doesn't memorize Jensen because in two days and nine hours they will wake up, and they will have a new life together and it will make a difference in the waking world.

He will rediscover Jensen as he really is, and it will be better than dreaming.

 

**December 2010**   
**West Yorkshire, England**

The first job that Jensen worked after limbo had been nothing short of a disaster.

"A goodamn fucking _disaster!_ " the client had shouted, and Jensen has said nothing, standing there with Chris at his side. Jensen was still breathing hard, frankly shocked at what had happened in there.

Jared had shown up, is what. Jensen was hunting the mark—yes, hunting, which is his least favorite form of interrogation but when the mark doesn't trust anything with his secrets and there's no safe to be found, they've got to get a little creative in forcing out their secrets. Nightmares generally do the trick.

But in this case, Jensen waiting along a rooftop with a sniper rifle aimed at the street below him, the last thing he expected was for Jared to show up. He'd swung his legs over the edge of the building, leaning down to get a better look at the projections far below. Jensen had stared at him in disbelief for realizing that it wasn't really him. Another danger when you're the dreamer: sometimes it's hard to keep memories of real life from bleeding into the dream.

Dreams aren't supposed to count as memories, Jensen thought. That includes limbo. But Jared was there, just the same.

"Don't miss," not-Jared said.

Jensen closed his eyes and counted backwards slowly from five. When he opened them, Jared was still there, hands shoved deep into his pockets. His nose and cheeks were red from the chill, and he was frowning at Jensen like he was an insect pinned to a spreading board: wings of a moth in some strange disarray. 

"I'm not going to miss." He's not.

"You're probably better off shooting the mark directly. Make sure he doesn't go anywhere."

"The fuck? Jared, just, _please_. I don't need this right now."

"Do you ever?"

_Yes_ , Jensen's mind supplied. The traitor. "Not like this. You're not..." Jensen waved his free hand vaguely in Jared's direction, " _you._ It's all in my head."

"Ah. Hm. What makes this different from limbo, then?"

Jensen had been so distracted by that question that he'd nearly missed the signal—a flare from the top of the building across the street, the one that the mark was headed into, unaware that a normal day at the office was going to turn into a hostage situation very shortly.  
"Let me get this straight," not-Jared continued. "You're going to shoot the lobby security and cause a panic, right? Won't that be hard to maintain?"

"It will be fine."

"Shoot the mark. Do it."

Jensen's hands are sweaty on the gun. What Jared was suggesting had come up in the briefings—if they shoot the mark, there's a chance he will die before Chris can get down there to interrogate him. It was definitely an option taken off the table as too risky, but now that he's in the dream, Jensen hesitates.

"Do it," Jared repeated quietly, and for some insane reason Jensen turned the sight onto the mark, aimed at his shoulder, and fired.

It did not end well. The chaos, as Jared had suggested, had absolutely been unmanageable, Chris had been held up in the mass exodus of employees rushing down the stairwell, and hardly got two words out of the mark before he died and they had nothing to do but wait around for the kick. Chris's lips were thin with frustration when Jensen told him what happened. Only Jared had that kind of influence over him, that was for sure, but in limbo it had never been that destructive. Jared had never manipulated him like that.

The projection, in short, was dangerous.

It makes it that much harder for Jensen to forget about Jared.

|||

Jensen is working a job in Leeds when the husband of the forger they're working with reportedly dies in a car accident. It's a shock, standing there while she takes the call, and then she's gone without a backwards glance and they're out a forger.

It holds up the operation for all of two days. Jensen spends them in his hotel room, flipping channels and checking his phone compulsively. He tells himself he's waiting to hear back about a forger (and is secretly glad that Misha is too busy; he doesn't want to see whatever it is he might find in Misha's expression—worry, anger, sadness—although with him on the job things would certainly have gone a lot more smoothly) but that's not the call he's expecting.

Jensen gives up after a day and a half and calls Danneel.

She answers with an easy "Hey, Jenny," which relaxes him instantly.

"Don't call me Jenny," he says, and can practically hear her smug glee from the other end of the line. She has made it abundantly clear already that calling off the engagement was in no way possible an end to their relationship, just an end to that aspect of it. Jensen feels chided, almost. Guilty for having asked her in the first place, and guiltier still for trying to replace Jared.

He would have hurt her so much in the end. Jensen is just damn lucky that Danneel is too smart for that, and he's certainly not worth the effort she put into trying to go along with it. 

"I'll call you Jenny and you'll love it. What's wrong?"

"I just wanted to talk to you."

"Mmhm. About...?"

Jensen sighs. "It's not about anything, Danni. I have some downtime right now and I'd rather not spend it sitting here alone."

"Downtime?" 

Jensen hears something click in the background and then the rustle of bedsheets and realizes that he hadn't even considered the time change. No wonder she thought something was up, it was three in the morning in America.

"We're down a forger. She had to... well, she lost her husband. Had to leave."

"Oh," Danneel says, but she doesn't say it offhand or even in sympathy; it's "oh, I see," and Jensen knows he's about to hear exactly what Danneel is thinking.  
"'Oh?'" he parrots.

"I'm fine, Jensen," she says, as if he had prompted it. "And so, for the record, is Jared Padalecki, but I'll thank you not to ask me how I know this."

Jensen has no intention of asking her about Jared, but he squirms a bit where he's sitting on his bed, picks at his jeans. He feels foolish for being so transparent, both now and during the sham of their engagement.

"I'm sorry," he says after a stretch of silence.

"Don't be. Don't ever be. Listen, Jensen, I'm going to hang up now and go back to sleep because I have a horribly long day ahead of me. But I was there when you lost your parents, and I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere. I want you to take this downtime of yours and think about why you called me. And I don't want to hear from you until you understand exactly what I'm trying to say here. Got it?"

Jensen chuckles humorlessly under his breath. "Are you sure you don't want to marry me?"

"Positive. But don't go thinking you're getting rid of me that easily, Ackles. I'm going now. Bye."

"Get your beauty rest."

"Don't be stupid, I don't need any of that."

Jensen rolls his eyes. "Goodnight."

"Think about it, Jensen," she says, and hangs up.

Jensen considers the fact that he was able to pick up the phone and call Danneel, but that he doesn't even know Jared's phone number. He could call him if he tried hard enough, and it would be difficult as all hell but Jared would answer. It would be so easy to reach out and connect with him again.

He's not dead. Jensen gives up the ghost and admits to himself that when Alexandra had gotten the call, had hung up and said very quietly into the room that her husband was dead and she was sorry but she didn't think she could continue, Jensen's first though had been of Jared.

Thinking about that, about Jared not just being gone but being _gone_ , makes his legs numb, little pins and needles in his knees and he starts to feel miles away from his own body, out of control.

But Jared is still out there, somewhere. Jensen knows he's not working in dreamshare anymore; Chris' mouth gets tight whenever someone asks what happened to that young guy, that point man they'd heard about, Padasomething? And the last time he saw Chad it hadn't exactly been a joyous reunion. Chad had ignored him for most of the job, but in the post-dreamshare high, when they'd all been congratulating each other on their success, Chad had looked over at Jensen blithely and said, "Too bad Jay's not working anymore, huh? He would have loved this one."

All Jensen had been able to think about was Jared telling him, one of those improbable mornings when the isolation of limbo had been apparent—literally just the two of them, with no world outside their window—about how he could never have walked away from dreamshare after that first taste. 

"You know, like a meth addict will always want meth, no matter what kind of rehab they go through," he had said, and Jensen had scoffed and punched him in the arm. 

"I'm serious!" Jared had said, rolling away from Jensen only to flip his limbs around until he was lying on his stomach, octopus-arms all over Jensen's chest and up under the pillows. "I mean, it's not what you were expecting, right? But you kept going back. It's addiction, man." Jared pressed his face into the juncture of Jensen's shoulder and collarbone. "It's like true freedom." 

The words were spoken into Jensen's skin, muffled. "You can create whole worlds and nobody can say you're wrong, or 'that's not possible'. It's all possible. Living and breathing art. It gets under your skin," Jared had said, pressing his fingers into the grooves of Jensen's ribs, one by one.

Jensen hadn't been able to look Chad in the eye after that. _He_ did that. He took that away from Jared. 

Jensen had stopped thinking about it, but he refused to be the dreamer on his next job. Anything he tried to fill his dreams with came out gray, and empty.

**January, 2011**   
**San Antonio, Texas**

The problem with having days off of work is that, instead of getting done everything that needs to be done—Jared's laundry, for one thing, and the fridge is starting to look big and empty and he really can't afford take-out—instead of all that, Jared is sitting in front of the TV watching a movie from RedBox. He is perfectly content to never move again. He's not ashamed to admit that he's never had a job with regular hours before, and definitely not one where he's on his feet all day, and he's exhausted.

So when his phone rings, Jared ignores it and sinks further into the couch.

Five minutes later, it's his doorbell. Jared ignores that, too—solicitation shouldn't be allowed, but it's not like anyone running this apartment complex cares to keep them away.

It rings again, more insistently this time. Jared sighs, hauls himself to his feet, and goes over to lean against the intercom button.

"Hello?" he says, because he might be annoyed but he doesn't have to be rude.

_“Jared Padalecki?“_

"Uh, yeah?"

_“It's Chris Kane.“_

Jared lets go of the button. He hasn't seen Chris Kane in over two years. The intercom buzzes again.

"I know you're not... in the business, but this is important. Please let me up, man."

There's a part of Jared that he's trying to ignore which connects Chris with Jensen, and it's that part of him that buzzes Chris in. Jared steadfastly ignores the irrational fear that something has happened, that Chris has come here in person because—

No, he isn't thinking that.

Chris knocks but Jared doesn't invite him in when he opens the door. Chris smiles and does a little half-wave, and Jared lets go of those unhealthy thoughts about Jensen and Jensen's safety.

"Gonna let me in?"

"That depends. Why are you here, Chris? And how did you even find me?"

"I have my ways."

"Sure you do," Jared drawls. "And you didn't answer my question."

"That's because when I do, you're going to shut the door in my face." He's right, of course, because when Jared continues to stare down at him expectantly, Chris says, "I need you on a job."

"The answer's no," Jared says, and shuts the door. Chris shoves a hand in the doorframe and hardly winces when the door crushes into his knuckles. There's a brief struggle, Jared pushing one way and Chris pushing the other. 

"It's just one level! No risk, hardly any drugs—"

"I saidI'm not doing it."

"Ackles will be there."

Jared doesn't even hesitate. "Then I'm _definitely_ not doing it." His shoulder pops the door soundly back into its frame.

"Oh _come on_!" Chris yells, voice muffled through the door. "You won't even have to see him for more than three days, Padalecki. Grow a pair."

Jared's already pacing back across the rug, his hands buried in his hair to keep them from shaking. The door opens and he rounds on Chris, doesn't even come within five feet of him. "What do want from me? I'm out of this, Kane. I don't want the money, and I'm—I mean I'm a huge fucking liability, what do you want me to say? That I'm fine, that I'm not going to bring him into my head like fucking _always_ and we'll be good? What?"

"I never said I was looking for a point man. We need an architect," Chris says, voice muffled on the other side of the door.

Jared's hands fall. His mind is perfectly, absolutely blank. He steps back across the room and opens the door. "I'm not an architect."

"I've been told you can build the most amazing mind-fucks. Mazes within mazes while your mark is distracted by the familiar. Roads that never lead to the same place twice, sending 'em on a wild goose chase. We need that, man."

Jared finds that he can't even be angry. He stares at Chris and doesn't comprehend a thing beyond the fact that Jensen thinks about him, talks about him.

He needs air. Chris doesn't stop him, and so Jared's feet take him down the winding hallway, out into the parking lot where he rests his hands against the cold frame of his car and watches his breath make its escape. There's an echoing sound and Jared realizes he's laughing, can't stop it, laughs until his hands stop shaking and his skin shivers in the cold. 

"I don't think this is exactly what he had in mind when he told you about me," Jared says with a smile, finding Chris still in his apartment, drinking one of the beers from the mini-fridge. Chris shrugs, tapping the bottle against his leg.

"He's not very subtle with the things he cares about."

"He has no idea you're here, does he?" Jared's grin still feels strange on his face, but at least he can think Jensen's name without forcing it away.

Chris smiles simply at him "Nope, and he's gonna be pissed when I bring you back with me." 

Jared doesn't think that far ahead. "Yeah. And just for the record, I'm not doing this to prove to you that I have a pair, okay? Because I really don't give a fuck."

"I know you don't," Chris says, shrugging. "So that's a yes?"

"I reserve the right to walk out whenever I want to."

"You got it."

"So? What's the job?"

Chris grins. "Like I told you, real easy, so long as we can keep this guy's projections entertained. And besides, I hear France is nice this time of year."

"No it isn't."

"Ah, well. I guess we'll find out."

 

**January 14, 2011**   
**Saint-Etienne, France**

The best word Jensen can think of to describe this job is _safe_. 

He'd gotten off the phone with Chris and had stood in the doorway of his bedroom, contemplating the boxes piled up in the still spartan living room of his apartment, and told himself this was good. 

The last time Jensen had moved into his own place, it was a one-room apartment, and not even that space had been small enough to fill. That had been before the dreamshare, back when he was restless and desperate for a clean slate. It had been before Jared. Before limbo. Jensen tries not to draw a line down the center of his life, _before_ and _after_ , but he does anyway. 

This moment had been different on either side: the young boy just beginning to build a new life for himself, and the person he is now, trying to strip away all of the lies he had let himself become. So he had agreed to take on a rookie job with Chris, one even he couldn't fuck up, and start over again. This time he wasn't painting himself over; instead he was stretching a new canvas over the old frame.

He had left the boxes unpacked—nothing in them was anything he wanted to own—and booked a flight to France.

They're in a gutted office building at the center of Saint-Etienne, cold concrete walls that muffle the sounds of the street below. They would be able to squat the operation here for weeks if they needed to, but they don't. The mark is going to be travelling by one of the high-speed trams to Paris in three days, and at this point all they need is an architect to design the dream for them—all logistics in regards to getting the mark put under had been set up before Jensen was ever hired for the job. 

It makes him nervous. There isn't a whole lot of money involved in this operation, and hack jobs are frequent when the employers try to control too much of the operation like they're doing here, but Chris had trusted them. It's not good enough to put Jensen at ease, but he's weighed the pros and cons of this operation over and over and the decision is the same every time. 

He can make it through this without Jared showing up. He's sure of that. He'll be back on the higher-roller jobs in no time. He's sure of that, too. He has to be. 

Jensen thumbs through the itinerary they had drawn up for him, only half-listening as they run through the mark's history and background. It's not really his job to know it at this stage anyway; Chris is the one who has done all the research. ("Like riding a bike with training wheels," he had said over the phone. "You just gotta smile, look pretty, and make sure nobody fucks anything up."

"And by nobody, you mean me?"

"I mean you and your fucked-up projections, yes. I got high hopes for you, buddy."

"That makes two of us.")

Jensen flips the page and the door to the warehouse slides open; he looks up and his heart slams straight into his lungs.

Jared.

Jensen's chest feels tight with fear for a moment and he frantically thinks _how did you get here_ —but he knows without a doubt that it's really _Jared_ standing there, expression forcibly unreadable. It's probably only an instant that Jensen actually meets his eyes, but it feels like walls two-years thick crumbling down; he wrenches his vision to Jared's side and Chris is standing there. Fucking _Chris._

Jensen latches onto his anger, leveling a glare at Chris so intense that he nearly misses the way Chris has to clamp a hand onto Jared's shoulder and forcibly lead him into the room.

Someone is still speaking, but whatever was just said washes right through Jensen as he tries to think of a way out of this, out of here, right the fuck now. 

"And you've met Jensen, I presume?"

A moment of quiet, in which Jensen looks intently past Jared's shoulder and tries to ignore the siren-like pull that makes him want to look, to touch, to just _have_. God. How has he been this _stupid_ —

"Yeah."

That's it, that's all he can take. Jensen stands so quickly he hears the metal chair whine against the pavement, grabs Chris with a hissed " _I need to speak with you,“_ and pulls him out into the hallway.

"The _fuck_ were you thinking?" Jensen growls, wasting no time in shoving Chris roughly into the wall. He steps back the second his hands leave Chris's shoulders, turns and shoves a hand into his hair, gripping the strands.

"The two of you are ridiculous, that's what I'm thinking!"

"You have no right—"

"Yes, I do!" Chris is so vehement that it stops Jensen in his tracks, staring. "We've known each other for a long time, man, and I've known you to be a miserable bastard sometimes but this takes the fucking cake. I don't care how nice and comfy it is in that goddamn closet of yours—" 

" _Chris_ , _“_ Jensen warns,

"—but I'm not going to sit there and watch you self-destruct for another two years. We need Padalecki on this job; what am I supposed to tell our employers, huh? 'He's retired' didn't mean jack shit to them, what difference do you think it makes if the extractor can't look the architect in the eye?"

_Architect_. It hadn't even occurred to him. He knew it was the architect they were waiting on, but seeing Jared walk through the door was the last thing Jensen ever expected; it drove all other thoughts away. Memory surfaces without warning: walking beneath a high vaulted ceiling, the likes of which he had never seen before in any dream and never would again; Jared looking up in awe at what he himself had created, turning to see Jensen's reaction—

"Goddammit," Jensen mumbles. It doesn't even sound like his own voice, and he has to press a hand to his forehead, breathe in until he has a lock on his surroundings. Chris doesn't say anything.

"What am I supposed to do with this, huh? I'm supposed to be..."

"Starting over?"

Jensen eyes Chris suspiciously. His jaw is set now, brow drawn low, ready for a fight.

"Fixing it," Jensen bites out. 

"So fix it."

They look at each other for another ten seconds across the hallway, and Jensen still wants to punch him in his fucking face. 

Tensions, to say the least, are high when they file back into the room. Jared is sitting awkwardly on one of the chairs, absorbed in reading through the case files. 

Chris glowers at them both during the briefing, and then Jared disappears among work desks and piles of paper to begin working on building the dream—one giant maze disguising itself as a jail.

It's on his way out the door that night that Jensen finally can't take it anymore. He's about to turn the doorknob when Jared shuffles out from behind his desk and stops abruptly in the middle of the room.

He looks at Jensen, then down, at where Jensen is holding the PASIV briefcase.

"Oh," Jared says. "I didn't... I thought you had left already. Where's... uh, did Chris leave?"

"Yes," Jensen says blankly.

"Ah." Jared looks away, hand going to his pocket. They both stand there awkwardly, and then Jared clears his throat at the same time that Jensen says, "Did you need this?"

He lifts the PASIV that Jared had been eyeing.

"It's... I just wanted to get some sleep, that's all."

It dawns on Jensen that Jared can't dream without the PASIV anymore. He'd banished all thoughts regarding Jared getting out of the business so well that it never even occurred to him. He feels slightly ill.

"I'll leave it," Jensen says, and moves closer to Jared, holding out the briefcase. "I'll tell the team that you needed to work out some of the architecture in a dream. Jared, I don't want to be the reason you can't dream anymore."

He says the last in a rush, one of those thoughts that make their way out one's his mouth without express permission from the brain, and Jensen's horrified at himself for a moment. But Jared just reaches out and takes the PASIV from him, a wry look on his face.

"I know you don't. I dream, Jen. Just not very often."

Jensen chews his lower lip for a second, feeling small. "I'm sorry," he says curtly, and then turns away from him.

"It's just as well," Jared calls back. Jensen half turns on his way out the door; Jared is unraveling a tube, intent on the machine. "My projections of you are worse than dreamless nights."

It's so painfully honest, the way he says it. _Same here_ , Jensen thinks, around the feeling of ice cold water kicking into his gut.

He wants to apologize again, but he knows how useless that will be. Instead he leaves, closing the door gently behind himself as he goes, and is thankful that Jared spends the next day working solely on teaching Chris the dream. Jared will be gone soon enough, and then Jensen can focus on beating the shit out of Chris for dragging Jared out here, and somehow he'll convince himself that keeping Jared out of the clusterfuck that is Jensen's life is still the right decision.

|||

Hours before they're set to board the train—the one that is scheduled to screech to an emergency halt thanks to the generous "donation" they have given the conductor just in time to kick them all out of the dream—Chris shows up at the building with Jared in tow.

Jensen looks up from his notes, eyes sliding immediately to Jared with some measure of shock.

"I thought you'd left already," he says, and Jared just shrugs up one shoulder in apology.

"We're not done with him," Chris says by way of explanation. There's an edge to his voice, but he's moving slowly in a way that Jensen knows means he's trying to keep it all together.

Chris closes the door behind him carefully. Jared takes a seat on his work stool, hands tucked under the sides like he's trying to disappear.

Chris levels a heavy look in Jensen's direction. "We have an issue."

"You're fucking with me," Jensen deadpans. An _issue_. So much for easy.

"Wish I was, man, I really do. Either of you heard of Adam Rondley?"

Jensen shakes his head and looks at Jared carefully, who shrugs.

"Misha Collins just called to tell me Rondley contacted him about working a job against Freedlund."

"Misha?" Jared says blankly, and Jensen can't make a connection either.

"We didn't need a forger, did we?" he asks.

Chris sighs heavily. "What I'm saying is that I think we've got hijackers on our hands."

Jensen groans at the same time that Jared says, incredulously, "Bullshit!"

"I wish it was. I tried to get Misha to double-cross them but he wasn't taking."

"Of course he wasn't taking, his wife just had a baby," Jensen says. "Nobody wants to get caught up in this. Chris, you said—"

"I know what I said. I'm sorry, Jen. Really."

There's silence in the room for a moment. Hijackers. So much for militarizing a subconscious; some people just hire extractors to keep an eye on the business, see if it's going to be a target, and then go in there and shoot the hell out of every dreamer until they wake up and the job goes out the window. That or they want to steal the information for themselves. Either way, it spells gunfight, or worse. And on top of that, they have no way of knowing how many of these guys they'll be up against. Assuming they have an extractor, a point man, and a forger, that's at least three, maybe more forgers depending on what kind of operation they've got going. Jensen grits his teeth.

Chris finally speaks, as if he's picking up the exact thread of Jensen's thoughts. "In any case, we have to be prepared. Jared, you're going in."

"What?" Jared asks, and Jensen echoes the sentiment.

"I said you're going in, no arguing."

"You know I don't do that anymore," Jared mutters, looking at the floor. He must feel Jensen's eyes on him, because he glances up quickly, but he doesn't look away.

"What the hell, Padalecki! Did you not hear me? We have no choice, this thing is happening in less than two hours!"

Jensen finally drags his eyes away. "We don't need to risk compromising the layout, Chris. Jared isn't going in and that's that."

"What we don't _need_ is to be racing the clock against some damn dream hijackers."

"It's just a rumor, Chris; for god's sake!"

"Is that a risk you're willing to take?"

"No," Jared says. Jensen and Chris both turn to stare at him. "No. If we're going to be heading off projections _and_ dreamers, we're going to need some protection. Chris can make up whatever passageways or rooms or paradoxes he wants, right? But we need something they can't fuck with. If only I know the layout of certain areas of the prison—" Jared turns and starts fiddling with his drafting board—"then I can head them off. Keep them away from you guys until you finish the job. They don't know what we have planned, so they can't time a kick in case they wake up too early, right? So we have the advantage there. You two proceed as usual, I head them off, the train jerks to a halt and we all wake up. No big deal, right?"

Jensen bites the corner of his lip, watching Jared's profile. His hair is longer than it was before, long enough to curl around his ears and at the base of his neck. "Jay," he says, and Jared actually flinches.

Chris doesn't seem to notice it at all. "Exactly; perfect. Hurry the fuck up, Padalecki, and meet us at the station, got it?"

Jared nods, distracted, lips around a pencil. Jensen allows himself one more quick glance before leaving, noting absently that Chris is still standing behind Jared. It takes a minute for Chris to catch up with Jensen on the stairwell. 

Jensen imagines the warning Chris must have given Jared—how fucked of Jensen's dreams are, how Jared might even run into himself in there. He doesn't like the idea of Jared knowing how horrible he actually was at moving on.

But he reminds himself that he has work to do. 

"Y'all right?" Chris asks, and Jensen nods. He's survived worse. By nightfall, this will all be over. For good.

**Dreamscape**   
**Freedlund Job**

It is hilariously, childishly easy to break into a prison that you have designed. 

Jared is lurking around the south wing dressed as security, keeping an eye out for any of the hijackers, but so far his maze must be doing its job because he hasn't heard a squawk from his  
two-way radio since he entered the dream.

He's just about to drop his guard about the whole thing, confident that he has built something that projections and hijackers alike can't penetrate, when Jensen rounds the corner at the end of the cell block.

"Dude," he calls. "What the fuck kind of a place did you build? I have no idea where I even am anymore."

"Jensen?" Jared cautions. He looks out of breath. "What are you even doing here? The mark is in the north wing. And where's Chris?"

"No idea. Hijackers. For some godforsaken reason Chris just told me to run. I would love to know what he was thinking. My guess is that he's going to try getting the projections to attack them."

"He told you to run?"

Jensen shrugs. "He said to meet him at the plaza, but I haven't got any fucking clue where that is, which is why I'm glad I ran into you, man."

Yeah, maybe he is glad, but Jared knows that the operation is going to get out of hand pretty quickly.

"You got your sidearm?" he asks. Jensen nods, drawing it from the holster on his waist.

"All right. I built an emergency exit straight to the plaza but if we better not run into any projections."

"Here's to hoping Chris is drawing them all away from us, then, yeah?"

Jared nods. "Yeah. Follow me."

 

|||

 

For the hundredth time since they boarded the train in the first place, Jensen has cursed Chris and all the bullshit he spouted off about this job being _easy_. Because now he is stuck running from projections, in the _opposite direction_ from the mark, with hijackers on the mark's heels, and he's running with Jared Padalecki to really make this mess impossible for Jensen to handle. 

"This isn't right." 

Jensen turns around and Jared is just standing there, staring at a dead end wall. "What?"

"It's not," Jared says, pushing ineffectually at the wall as if it's going to give way and reveal the path he's looking for. "This isn't what I designed. There should be a passage here that takes us directly back out to the plaza."

"So maybe Chris took it out." Jensen strains to listen, but there are no sounds coming from the halls around them. He wonders, almost idly, as if his brain is trying to sabotage this, to find some way to stop thinking about Jared as his, to stop thinking about how much he wants to wake up from this dream and forget that the last two years happened at all and never let Jared out of his sight—he wonders if this is a ploy. A mistake was made somewhere in translation, architect to dreamer, and if someone is sabotaging this, it has to be one of them. 

"Why would he do that?" Jared asks, and Jensen makes the terrible mistake of glancing over at him just as he turns around, voice small with confusion, looking to Jensen for answers. _Why should you trust anything I say?_ Jensen thinks, and then thinking that Jared is capable or willing to sabotage this mission is ludicrous. If Jensen should trust anyone in this world, it's him.

He can only find it in him to shake his head minutely, the assault rifle in his hands forgotten. That passage may be gone, but Jared's maze is holding beautifully. There are no sounds of any projections pursuing them, just silence, the two of them finally catching their breath. 

The walkie on Jared's thigh crackles to life. 

" _Jared, it's Chris. Jensen hasn't shown up at the rendezvous. Don't panic; he can't have woken up either, just trust me. But I need to know where he is, dude, this job_ cannot _fall apart. Over.“_

It's hard to tell through the mechanical buzz of transmission, but something about the tone in Chris's voice has a chill of panic wending its way down Jensen's spine. Everyone is counting on the success of this job, but he can't think of a reason that it should all fall apart without him—everyone knows their duties inside and out, with or without the extractor there calling the shots.

Jared looks curiously guilty as he raises his radio to his mouth. "He's with me," he says. His eyes never leave Jensen's face. "Block E, end of the south hallway. Over."

_“Goddamn it, Padalecki!“_ Chris says, and Jared grimaces. Jensen doesn't have the time to process this, because between one instant and the next the dream shifts around them. There's now a wall at Jensen's back, and he turns to see that it's a door, heavy as the walls around them and pressure sealed.

"What the hell?"

_“Okay, you two are going nowhere._ Do not _let anyone in, don't worry about projections, and don't kill each other, okay? I'm on my way.“_

They look at each other, and Jensen is still confused about why Chris is so angry but at this point he's given up trying to keep control of this dream anyway. He paces to the other side of the small room and steadfastly ignores the pinch of nerves gathering in his gut. Something isn't right, here, but he can't figure it out. He chalks it up to Jared being there, and how stupidly easy it is to forget that the last two years have ever happened.

|||

This was a bad idea. Jared's feeling jittery, like he's going to jump out of his own skin if he doesn't look at Jensen, if Jensen doesn't look at _him_. He's this close to panicking, his entire floor plan all screwed to hell and he doesn't know why. Maybe he's out of practice, who knows—but in any case, there's only going to be one person to blame when they fail the op, and it's going to be him.

"What is it with you, man," Jensen mumbles, checking the chamber of his pistol. "I always end up in a room with you and a gun. And a job about to be fucked sideways."

"Oh, yeah," Jared says, a little hysterically. "Because it was such a horrible fucking time we had the last time we took bullets to the head. At least _you_ willbe forgiven this time."

"Don't talk about the things you don't know, Jay," Jensen says sharply. Jared sucks in a breath and tells his brain to stop repeating the word, his nickname in Jensen's voice after all this time. 

"Man, I'm _sorry_ that I didn't realize I was living in some fantasy world, okay? Hell, I would have left you alone completely if I had known the whole thing was just some dream fuck to you."

Jensen's fingers are gripped in Jared's coat before Jared can register that he even moved. His back hits to wall so soundly that he doesn't even notice, struggling for breath, how close Jensen is until their eyes are locked. 

Through clenched jaw Jensen grits out, "Don't you _ever_ ," punctuated by another slam into the wall, " _ever_ assume that I didn't love you."

For a moment they share the same breath. Something flashes across the anger in Jensen's eyes and then his grip is loosening, he's swallowing thickly, and Jared knows a split second before Jensen moves that he's about to pull away.

He reaches out, just the quiet ruffle of fabric and a fraction of an inch and that's all it takes, Jensen drawing forward towards the hand now ghosting across his hip. Then it's all teeth and tongue, the kiss too desperate, their mouths opening to each other like they're drowning in air. Jared's shoulder blades grind painfully into the wall but he's hardly aware of it, lost in the curl of Jensen's tongue around his own, the sharp pain of teeth catching on his lower lip, so familiar that he aches with the memory.

When he finally pulls back for air he's dizzy with the loss. It would be embarrassing if he actually cared, but at the moment he just really, really doesn't, reveling in the burn of his lungs, the way Jensen is so close that he has to steady a hand on the wall to keep himself from pitching forward. 

" _Jensen_ ," he breathes, when he has the breath. He doesn't catch the fall of Jensen's eyelids when he presses their foreheads together, but he does see Jensen's throat work when he swallows. 

"I did," Jensen starts, but Jared's "I know" cuts the words short. He concentrates on breathing in slowly, out slower. "Jensen. Come back to me." 

But that does it, Jensen is pulling away, turning away, scrubbing a hand over his face.

"Jared..."

"I saw Danneel," Jared blurts out. "A few months ago."

The look on Jensen's face is too much like betrayal, but Jared's just glad he's not watching his back while he goes through the door. "You what?" And okay, there's a little anger there, too.

Jared shakes his head, still attached to the wall. "It's not—she called me. Look, I can't say I know her, man, but I know _you_. And you'd never want to hurt her. But Jensen, listen to me, you're breaking her heart."

Jensen's mouth works silently for a moment, anger in the pinch of his mouth but surprise written across his eyes. "She knows," he says finally, and it's not a question. It sounds resigned.

"As if that's even a surprise." 

Jensen nods. "I should have—" he starts, but Jared will never know what Jensen should have done because the door bursts open, and they both have guns drawn before it even hits the wall.

"Chris," Jensen breathes out in relief, while Chris hurries to shut the door again, panting. Jensen lowers his gun but something's nagging at Jared, and his brain is moving sluggishly.

"Just for the record, you two fucked this up _all_ on your own this time," Chris says, ignoring Jared's gun completely. "Jared, what part of 'stay the fuck away from Jensen' did you not catch? Was it the cussing? Did your sensitive little brain overload and purge that memory completely? Because I _told_ you to stay the _fuck_ away from _Jensen_!"

"What the hell, man? Aren't you supposed to be heading off projections?" Jensen glances back at Jared and frowns at his firearm.

"Yeah, well, you two fuckwads had to go and talk about your feelings and now the whole plan is shot to hell," Chris says, checking the chamber of his pistol and frowning. "We're going to have a whole lot of angry projections on our hands very, _very_ soon and neither of you are allowed to die."

Jared licks his lips quickly, meeting Jensen's eye. "Chris," he says slowly, "we aren't sedated, and neither of us are the dreamer. You think you could fill us in, here, because we were kind of in the middle of something."

"You were in the middle of—!" Chris puts a hand to his forehead and looks like he might be counting to ten, backwards, and in Portuguese. "Should have been a little more specific." He drops his hands and gives Jensen a look that makes Jared's chest clench with worry. "Jen. Look, there's no nice way to say it, but Freedlund is just a decoy. You're the real mark in this job. They're after you, man, and as soon as they get what they want..." A sigh. "Let's just say there are a couple of guys bigger than a Padalecki on steroids in the back of the train waiting for you to wake up, and when you do...."

Jared feels his stomach roil, followed by an anger so black and hot that he could go out there and take on a whole _city_ full of projections, if Chris wasn't standing in his way.

Jensen, on the other hand, looks more pissed off at his confusion than he is the fact that he just found out he was being duped. "I haven't told them anything," he says through his teeth, "they won't kill me without getting any information."

And now Jared is more confused than ever. Told who? The hijackers? Told them what?

Chris shakes his head. "They don't even need you to say anything, man. _Jared_ is the one they want. Or at least, they're sure enough that they went to all this trouble just to get the both of you working on the same job at once."

Jensen visibly pales. "How did they... ?"

"What?" Jared asks. "How did they what? Who? What's going on?"

"You know more than I do," Chris tells Jared.

"Um, no, actually I'm a little confused here. The only thing I know about Jensen is..." He pauses. Oh. "It's about your parents," Jared states. "They know what you saw, and now they're coming after you? _Now_? After _fifteen years?_ "

"It's okay, Jared," Jensen says, and Jared knows he means _It's not your fault_ , but he's on the edge as it is, and if someone doesn't clue him in soon he _will_ go out there and start taking out projections, just to take the edge off.

"It's not okay, Jensen! I told—I _told_ you this, and—fuck, it's why you left, isn't it? I... _fuck_."

Jared had thought maybe, maybe the reason Jensen's memories were creating themselves in his dreams, making them hard to navigate into Jensen-free territory, just had something to do with everything he saw in limbo, all the places they created together. Jared spent so much time ignoring the fact that Jensen had locked every secret away inside their dreamscape that he never thought about the danger he was in. He knew who it was, he saw the killer. Heard his name.

|||

_**4012 days, 2 hours, 18 minutes** _

The wind is picking up. 

Jared wants to think this is a significant wind, pushing at his back until he heads in the right direction, but it isn't anything like fate. It buffets around him haphazardly, whipping around his body. This isn't his wind.

He goes home, has to fight the wind just to get the door open, and then it slams itself shut.

"Jensen?" he calls out into the empty house. The wind howls in answer. Jared slips a hand into his pocket and curls his fingers around the pocket watch, imagining that he can feel it ticking. It acts as a dowsing rod for reality: it's constantly in flux in Jared's mind, _this is a dream_ fighting against the idea that wants to take root in his mind, the idea that this place with Jensen is all he has ever known, is reality itself—until he touches the cool weight of his totem, and knows for sure.

This isn't real, and neither is that wind. If mother nature isn't at fault, then Jensen is. Jared closes his eyes, finds the center of the storm, goes where his mind takes him.

He finds himself in an unfamiliar landscape, but relaxes immediately when he finds Jensen there.  
The air is calm. _Eye of the storm_ , his mind supplies. 

They're in front of a brick house, sitting in the middle of sprawling acreage and surrounded by meticulous landscaping. Jared has never seen it before.

"What's—Jensen, when did you build this?"

Jensen shrugs. "Been working on it." His jaw is tight, looking at the house, unfocused. Jared looks at his profile for a moment, licks his lips.

"Jen. What's in there?"

"I don't know," Jensen says, but he says it like he's terrified. Then it comes back to Jared—" _It's okay dude, really. I don't remember any of it. It's a psychological thing“—_ and he takes a step back. He looks back at the house with wide eyes, the solid, lovely structure of it sitting in the middle of an otherwise blank canvas, and he knows what they're going to find in there.

Jensen is standing at the foot of the walkway with his shoulders square; turns to look back at Jared when he moves. "I want you to come in with me. Jared. I couldn't. Handle it on my own the first time, yeah? I don't know what will happen." He's determined, eyes carefully guarded, but the naked fear in his voice makes Jared so _angry_ at whoever did this to him. "I can't hide from it in here anymore," Jensen pleads.

"Of course. God, Jensen, of course," Jared agrees quickly. He doesn't let himself think about what they're about to walk into, so instead he grips the curve of Jensen's shoulder, thumb brushing his neck surely. "I'll be right behind you. Okay?"

Jensen nods, closes his eyes for a brief second, jaw working. He turns neatly and starts up the path, Jared close behind.

He's not sure what he was expecting to find in there, but for some reason Jared didn't think it would feel this invasive. He hesitates at the door after Jensen disappears inside, and then he hears Jensen's voice say, tentatively, "Dad?"

It's the small, shaky sound of Jensen's voice that has Jared stepping across the threshold. He finds Jensen standing at the open doorway to what looks to be the living room. Something tells him he shouldn't interrupt, but the slump of Jensen's shoulders has Jared itching to lend him a supportive hand. He doesn't.

A voice drifts out of the living room: "Jensen, go. Go! Don't please, he's not a part of this. Leave him out of this!"

The sound of Jensen's father's panic has Jared starting forward, ready to jump in and help, but just as he tries to shoulder his way past Jensen his arm reaches across the front of Jared's body, holding him back.

Inside the room, there seems to be a stalemate. A harried looking man is standing at the end of a couch, one hand inclined towards the telephone sitting on a table there, the other held out in front of him, placating a second man—this one who is much more in control of the situation than he himself believes, because he's holding a gun. The long barrel of a silencer is attached to the end, and the man's gloved hands are shaking. Jared can tell that they're shaking with rage and not fear, because the man's eyes are dead, cold, full of hatred.

The hand holding the gun swings around to point at Jensen, who takes a startled half-step backwards and spreads his hands wide in a kind of surrender. His whole body is rigid, his eyes impossibly wide. Jared grips the doorframe, overcome with the need to grab Jensen and tug him right out of this memory, but he made a promise.

"No!" Jensen's father shouts. "He has nothing to do with this, he's just a kid!"

"Just a _kid?_ ," the man says, eyes never leaving Jensen's face. Jared has seen men at their breaking points; this one has gone right over his. "What kind of a thing is that for a father to say about his son, hm? Maybe if I had thought of Shane as _just a kid_ I wouldn't have had to kill that son of a bitch Cressley for what he did to him."

"Please," says Jensen's father weakly. "Haven't we suffered enough?"

"Maybe not. Maybe you need to learn what it's like, losing a son. Maybe you need to learn that justice is not about deciding who _deserves_ their misfortune."  
Jared is feeling wholly out of his element now, because he doesn't know who Shane or Cressley or even the man with the gun are or why they are here, beyond it pertaining to a case that Ackles senior must have worked on. From what he can tell, Jensen is just as confused as he is. He doesn't move, doesn't flinch, doesn't take his eyes off the barrel of the gun.

Which is why Jensen also doesn't notice, and neither does the gunman, that Jensen's father takes this time to scrabble for the receiver of the phone, pulling the cradle toward him by the cord and hurriedly punching at the numbers, trying for 911.

The man shouts and then there's a muffled sound from the barrel of the gun, and the corner of the end table explodes into shards.

"Don't! Your wife already tried that. Didn't work out so well for her, now did it?"

Jensen makes a soft, involuntary noise next to Jared, who is so close to him that he can feel it. Jared's arm twitches in an aborted attempt to grab at Jensen just to comfort him—but he's not sure if that will jar the memory out of context and skew the outcome.

"I'm not going to kill your son," the man says. "But I will make him suffer. I will make him bear the sins of his father, like my son did for me, and one day this will all come full circle."

He rounds on Jensen again, gun arm outstretched so that it is trained on Jensen's father, slumped now on the couch and breathing hard.

"They tell me Shane knew too much. They tell me that he was working with laundered money, do you understand? Drug money. _My son_ , involved in that. And it's a lie. Shane had nothing to do with it. I never told this to your father, of course. It was mine. I accepted the money. I pushed it through the shop. You, boy, you've never had to work for a thing a day in your life, have you? Little, pretty rich boy. You'll never know poverty. I'll kill your father and all of his estate goes to you, I'm sure. Do you blame me, then? For wanting my son to know a life like yours? Do you?"

Jensen shakes his head jerkily back and forth.

"They did. They blamed him. Cressley shot my son in cold blood, did you know that? All because he knew a man's name. He didn't even know that Charles Gray was involved in anything illegal, but they were so damn afraid that Shane would tell them that they just went in and shot him in the head.

And your dear old dad couldn't even get Cressley jailed for it. They said Cressley had done a service to his community. They say he had acted out of self defense, because he would be killed if he didn't follow orders. 

And now you know, too. Do you understand, boy? Now you know his name. Charles Gray. And one day, you're gonna get killed for it, just like my son.

So you better hope, boy, that they never put two and two together. Everyone winds up killed for Charles Gray one way or another, and I'm not the only one who wants to put a name to the face of the drug ring that murdered their loved ones. And if anyone ever learns that you know?" The man outstretches his arms, regarding Jensen gleefully. "Dead man walking."

And then he turns, aims his gun at Jensen's father, and pulls the trigger.

Jensen turns around so fast that his shoulder slams hard into Jared's chest, but he recovers quickly, as if he hadn't even noticed Jared was there. 

They take off down the hallway, Jared clinging to the hem of Jensen's shirt as they go. It's when they trip into the kitchen that they both see it: the body of Jensen's mother, slumped on the floor, blonde hair fanning out onto the tile. It rustles in the breeze of the open back door and Jensen makes a strangled cry, but Jared forces his head down and away and then tugs Jensen the opposite direction.

Jensen shoves him off, seemingly stuck somewhere between being 15 years old and living this for the first time and being 30 and well past it. They pass through the mudroom and into the garage.

"Shit, shit," he mutters, pulling open the drawers of a tool chest as wrenches and bolts rattle around in them, hit the floor. Jared glances nervously back at the doorway into the house. It's just a memory, he reminds himself, nobody can actually hurt them. 

Jensen finally grabs at something, which turns out to be a spare car key, and unlocks the driver's seat to the Lexus parked there in the garage. He doesn't seem to remember Jared is with him anymore and Jared has to throw himself into the passenger side before Jensen drives off without him.

They peel off down the driveway, Jensen angrily wiping tears out of his vision. They drive in silence until the scenery flashing by outside the window is the same loop of forest-lined highway.

"Jensen," Jared tries. "Jensen, stop the car." No reaction. Jared reaches for the steering wheel.

"No!" Jensen shouts, batting away Jared's hand and wildly overcorrecting the steering; the car swerves violently to the left before straightening out again. Jared just stares at Jensen's profile for a second, unsure about what he's supposed to do.

"Jen, it's over, okay? It was nothing. We're dreaming. Remember?" He chances a hand on Jensen's thigh and lets out a breath when there's no violent reaction. "Hey, you've got to remember, okay? You're here with me—Jared—and this is just a dream. Hey."

Jensen's grip on the wheel finally relaxes. "It's over," he mutters, seemingly to himself. "Nothing we can do."

"Exactly. Now will you please stop the car?"

Jensen nods and then slams on the brakes just a little too hard. The car stutters to a halt and Jensen gets out like its suddenly burning him. He paces to the side of the road and back until Jared reaches him, leaving the car forlorn in the middle of the road with its doors open like arms.

"Jesus, Jared." Jensen says. His eyes are still wide, and his hands shake a little when he pushes them through his hair. " _Jesus.“_

"Talk to me, man."

"I should never have made you do that. I should have gone in alone, this was my nightmare."

"Oh, come on, give me more credit than that," Jared says, aiming at levity. It goes ignored.

"I could have gone without seeing that," Jensen rasps out, and then laughs self-depracatingly. "Why did I do that?"

"You needed to. You couldn't hide from it, that's what you said." Jared places his hands carefully on Jensen's shoulders so that he can't look away. "You were right. I know, I _know_ you're going to try and block that out, you're running away from it already. But you had to see that. Don't you get it? You can protect yourself now."

Jensen swallows hard and he's no longer shaking, but he's staring at Jared like he's never seen anything like him before. "What? No. No no, Jay, _no_. This is over. "

"It's not! Go to the authorities, as soon we wake up. You have to tell them what really happened, tell them about Gray, about Cressley—"

"He's dead."

"What?"

"He'd dead. Cressley. Leavens, that's his name, Jim Leavens, the man who killed my parents. He murdered Cressley as well. Tried for multiple counts of first degree murder. I expect his sentence has been carried out by now, too, but I didn't hang around long enough to see him put on death row. He killed them, Jay, and I spent so many years wondering why I lived, who I was to survive."

"You know it now. Charles Grey."

"And what am I supposed to do with that, huh? There are a lot of people who would kill me for that name. A lot of them. And I've put myself right in the middle of the fucking best interrogation industry in the world. Dream theft. Information. God fucking _dammit_."

"But they're dead. Nobody knows. Do they?"

"I dunno, Jay, who would think to go after the one person left alive in the whole ordeal?"

He says it mockingly, voice thick with sarcasm, and Jared recoils. Jensen puts a hand to his forehead.

"Sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. But I don't—they'll never get that information, Jared. I don't want it, but no way in hell can I ever give it away."

"Okay. Jensen." Jared reaches out to finally draw Jensen in, but Jensen is unyielding. "It's not something you have to shoulder alone, okay? You're not alone."

Jensen finally relaxes, closing his eyes and breathing steadily in and out. "I know," he mutters, but it sounds painful for him to say, and Jared has no idea why. "I know."

|||

Jared hadn't thought about that once. Not when he woke up, and not when Chris had shown up at his door. He had just jumped headlong into the moment he thought he could see Jensen again, smile at him, say goodbye. It would have been easier that way, to just let him go. But Jensen gave everything to him, made him a safe place, trusted him with his darkest secret. 

"I wish it was that noble," Jensen says quietly. "I was scared. I've always been scared."

"You shouldn't be," Jared says thickly, shaking his head. "Man, you shouldn't be. Didn't I tell you that the only thing that matters is what you decide is real? Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm it, aren't I? Your lock box? Your safe? Your—"

"Yes."

Chris clears his throat. "You shared a subconscious," he says. "Every memory about what went on down there is as easy to access when Jensen's dreaming as it is when you are, Jared. Problem is, Jensen's idea of safety doesn't align with the rest of the free worlds', does it. Dumbass spends his whole life holding his cards close to his chest; one pretty boy comes along and he gives them all away."

"Fuck you, Chris."

Chris just grins. 

"Tell me what's going on," Jared says, ignoring the way his chest feels as open as the sky, pushing against his ribs.

"There are no hijackers. There is no mark. I'm so sorry I lied to you, Jensen, but I had to protect you."

Jensen stares at Chris with an unreadable expression on his face, and Jared watches Jensen, and Chris tell them both that two months ago he was approached by a man named Coronet about a job. A double-cross against Jensen Ackles. They wanted Jared, they said, but they couldn't find him, and so they told Chris they would pay him enough that he could retire comfortable and not have to worry about money again.

"Like hell I would let you get killed, Jensen," Chris says, slumped against the door. "I knew that if I refused, they would just find someone else. This was my best option. Jared, I thought about explaining everything to you, but it would be harder if you knew. 

The hijackers are with me. Or I'm with them, whatever. They're a second team and they're going to try and get Jared cornered. Jensen, you can tell the difference, right? Please tell me you know which is Jared and which is a projection?"

Jensen licks his lips and looks at Jared. He swallows thickly. "This is what I was afraid of," he says lowly. "I know that limbo was real, Jay, I figured that out a long time ago. I just couldn't admit it to myself. I had to keep it all in my head, see? Otherwise it's too real. It's this. It's taking responsibility for what happened to me."

"Shut up," Jared says, surprised at how choked up his voice is. "You're going to be fine, we are all going to be fine. I won't tell them anything."

"Maybe not, but they don't exactly need to interrogate you, do they?" Chris says. Jared forgot for a second that he was even in the room."I needed you in here, too," he tells Jared. "They know by now that I'm not really on board with them anymore, I changed the entire north wing. Had to teach them the layout so they could find you. But this morning I had you make changes that they don't know about."

"I still don't understand. They need me, okay, I get that. But why? Why can't they force it out of Jensen's subconscious? He remembers it too, now."

"Can't access it," Jensen says. "It's yours."

"What?"

Jensen shrugs. "I blocked it out of my memory before, Jared, it's no surprise that I can't access it outside of limbo. God, I _knew_ this was going to fucking happen. I thought it was safe with you. I didn't think they would figure it out."

"Yeah, well your projections managed to broadcast that information to the entire dreamshare underground," Chris says dryly.

"What's their plan, then?"

"Stick the two of you back in limbo."

"No," Jensen says. The sentiment is exactly what Jared's whole body is screaming; they can't do that again, they can't risk it a second time—

"Then you both need to get away from each other, run in two opposite fucking directions and stay away until the kick. No way you're outrunning those guys on the train while it's still in motion."

"Okay." Jared nods, mostly to himself. "Okay, I got the south and west wings, Jen, you're going north and east. We have," he pulls out his pocket watch, "one hour until the kick. Chris." He locks eyes with him. "You're going to lead off the projections, okay?"

"Fucking duh," Chris says, and the door opens behind him with a click.

"Don't get yourself killed," Jensen tells Jared, already having closed himself off, and disappears out the door.

|||

Jared isn't entirely sure how Coronet's team was planning on getting the both of them down into limbo, or how they planned on getting out, or whether he even _cared_ about the plan. That was before he turned down a row of cell blocks and found himself walking straight into an ambush.

The thing about building a jail is that cells are pretty hard to get out of when you're not the one changing the dream.

"Hello, gentlemen, lady," Jared says brightly, rolling up his sleeves. There are two men and one woman waiting for him in the cell, a PASIV laid out on one of the bunks. "What's the occasion? Theft? Murder? Mayhem? Must be my birthday."

It's a fight he doesn't win, not three against one. He fights to keep control of his surroundings, so that when he wakes up a level down he's going to remember how to get back up. And that doesn't involve dying. He hopes to god that that's Coronet kicking him in the gut right now, and that Jensen is safe, because there's no way he's going to be able to—

|||

It's the sounds he registers first: the steady rush of the wind, waves crashing somewhere close by. When Jared opens his eyes he's not surprised to see the pale blue sky, offset by the wooden underside of the large umbrella he's lying under, dead palm leaves cutting into his view. The wood beams creak gently in the wind.

Jared doesn't find himself concerned. In fact, when he thinks about it, he's perfectly comfortable here. His body feels rested, and he stretches. He rolls over on the deck chair and reaches instinctively for the pocket of his shorts, pulling out his pocket watch. There's a small click when he opens it, the watch face still and silent. Something tugs on the back of Jared's mind—it's Jensen, and so he pushes those thoughts away, knowing he won't find him here, wherever _here_ is—and comes to the conclusion that he's here on a job. Yes, that's it. A job, now he remembers.

The tide is out. Waves rise low and long, then give in and break over lazily. Jared should figure out what he's doing here. He wanders down to the beach and wades in until the water is covering his waist.

The waves are crashing behind him now. Jared rests a hand just over the surface of the water. Jensen tugs at his mind again. He sees Jensen's crumpled form on the beach, feels the oddly fresh salt water burn in the back of this throat—had that happened? When?

_This is important. Pay attention, Jared._

Pay attention to what? It's so hard to focus, and Jared lets it go.

"Jay?"

Jared turns toward the shore. Chad is standing there, shading his eyes with his hands and squinting out at where Jared is standing in the water. Had Chad been working on this job? Jared doesn't remember. 

He frowns slightly as he waves back. He can't really remember much about the job at all—he isn't able to recall _any_ of the details, actually. 

"What are you doing, we've been looking everywhere!"

Jared opens his mouth to answer but shuts it again, wading back out to meet Chad on the sand. He's looking slightly frantic, hand in his pocket where Jared knows there isn't a totem at all, just a lighter that Chad fumbles with when he's nervous. Jared has told him a thousand times not to come crying to him when he sets his pants on fire, and he allows himself a small smirk at that, head starting to clear.

"What's up?" he asks pleasantly, but his stomach rolls with nerves at Chad's answering expression.

"What's up is that Jensen is back there freaking the fuck out and you apparently couldn't take your phone with you when you ran off, dickweed. Jensen's about to hop the next flight out of here if you don't go calm his ass down."

Jensen, oh. No wonder he keeps surfacing in Jared's mind. Something comes back to him now, a building in Paris and Jensen carefully avoiding speaking with him at all; the job. The job that has nothing to do with the beach.

How did he get here? Jared's hand goes back to his pocket watch. How did he get here, how did he get here? It seems so important to know, but his watch is silent. Jensen. Jensen needs him.

"Let's go."

|||

_“Take a right, and then two lefts,“_ Chris says. Jensen's signal is getting a bit scrambled, and the last time he switched over to Jared's channel to check on his position, he hadn't gotten an answer.

"It's a dead end," he reports back, and Chris swears. "I can't find Jared. Over." Chris swears more.

_“Okay_ , _change of plans. If they've got Jared down a level, you're going with him. There's a—-, a forger, his—- is Michaels, he'll be the dreamer. Wake him—- then we're all getting the hell—- this fucking nightmare.“_

Jensen turns his back to the dead end wall. He wishes he had Jared's watch right now, because there's no countdown to this kick, but whatever it is, they've got even less time than that, and no way of letting Jared know.

Jensen rounds the corner and comes to a large, circular room—the elusive plaza. "Congratulations, Ackles, you've found the center of this maze," he mutters to himself humorlessly. Jensen checks his gun, wonders what the hell he's getting himself into, and heads under the archway labeled "South."

|||

Jared, pushing his way through the door after Chad, turns one quick circle and knows. This place is not supposed to exist. Chad—or whoever is pretending to be Chad—tucks a hand into his pocket and frowns patiently at Jared, and then the ground gives an almighty shake and throws them both off balance.

The realization that his totem has been compromised slides like ice down his spine: not only is he dreaming, but somebody did their homework. Jared tries to hold it together before the whole damn house comes crashing down and he wakes up God knows where. He can't shake the feeling that Jensen is in danger, _really_ in danger, and when fake-Chad loses his forge and becomes somebody Jared doesn't recognize, he feels panic for the first time.

"Who are you?" he says, gripping at the doorframe as the ground bucks beneath him again, but the man is pulling a gun out and aiming it at Jared's head. 

"We were supposed to have more time than this," not-Chad mutters cryptically, and Jared closes his eyes involuntarily.

There's a gunshot, but nothing happens. Jared opens his eyes just as the unknown man's body hits the floor, and Jensen's standing there at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Calm down!" he shouts over the noise. "Jared, you know this, you can stop this!

Behind Jared, the glass walls of the house ha and Jensen had built in limbo begin to shatter, one after the other. Jared closes his eyes and his memory gives him the image of a claustrophobic room with steel walls, Jensen following Chris out of the door—and the pieces all slide together.

His hand goes instinctively to clutch at his pocket watch, his useless _useless_ totem, and then the ceiling begins to fall in. "Run!" he shouts, voice muffled, but he doesn't have to tell Jensen twice—they both scramble out of the falling house, Jared breathing in deep, relaxing until the dream stabilizes.

"Got you?" he wheezes, looking at Jensen. 

"Yeah, man, I walked right into it."

"So did I."

"You don't understand. Chris is waking up early."

"What?"

"We'll only have a few minutes, but at this point it's the only way we're getting out of this level without dying."

Jared shakes his head in disbelief. "He's putting himself in danger."

"What other choice do we have?"

When Chris wakes up, the dream collapses. Down here, Jared's the dreamer, but when the jail on the level above them goes, they'll be jarred awake. Hopefully. 

And then they'll run.

"There's still two more down here," Jared says.

"One. I got someone else, a woman, upstairs."

"It's a good thing they weren't sedated," a voice says, and they both whirl around. 

"Where the fuck where you hiding?" Jared says unthinkingly,

"Coronet," Jensen says, raising his gun.

Coronet's firearm is already aimed at Jared's head. "We can do this the easy way, or we can—"

"Oh cut the crap," Jensen snarls. "If you think you're getting that information so easily, then you're wrong. Neither one of us wants to end up dead."

"Oh, don't worry, you will, one way or the other. But first," Coronet says, "We have to crack the safe." He smiles sweetly at Jared.

"You don't want to do that," Jensen says. There's a stalemate: three guns, one pointed at Jared, two at Coronet. It's still a risk. "You don't get to wake up from limbo, you know."

"You forget, Ackles, that most of us carry totems. I don't know why the two of you were stuck down there for so long, other than the both of you being damned fools, but there are plenty of ways to kill a man. That's all it takes, just like any other dream."

"The fuck do you know about limbo anyway," Jared mumbles. 

"I know enough," Coronet says, and then his eyes widen: the ground begins another upheaval as the waves behind them begin to jump up five, ten feet, crashing against the shore.

"So who'd Gray kill?" Jared says. Coronet freezes. 

"Gray?"

"That's the information you want, right?"

"Jared, what the _fuck_!" Jensen shouts. Jared ignores him.

"His name is Charles Grey. I want him dead just as much as you do, you know that? So there you have it. No safe to crack, man. Nothing hiding in Jensen's subconscious but me, dude."

Coronet stares at Jared, gauging him—no doubt wondering if Jared is lying or not, and now he knows why they wanted to go all the way into his subconscious. He wants to hear it for himself, Leavens' monologue, to know for sure that he's accusing the right man.

But it's enough of a distraction, the name dropping and the lurching of the earth, and while Jared stumbles as the ground tilts under him, Jensen has a firmer foothold. Jared dives for the ground at the exact second that Jensen pulls the trigger.

He misses. Coronet goes down wailing, his leg collapsing underneath him. Jensen stalks over while Jared picks himself up off the ground and says, very quietly, but very sincerely, "I'm sorry," just before he pulls the trigger for the second time, sending Coronet's subconscious tumbling down to limbo.

Meanwhile, all hell is breaking loose.

"If he doesn't wake up before the kick than he's lost!" Jared shouts, scrabbling forward to grip at Jensen's sleeve. Jensen pushes at Jared, nodding.

"Can't do anything about it, go, go!" he says, because the ocean is in an uproar, each wave higher than the last, and Jared grips Jensen's sleeve tightly while they run, unwilling to let go, let Jensen get lost in the water lapping angrily now at their feet.

And then it's as if they hit a brick wall, as if the world had been travelling forward at breakneck speed and then just stopped, which is exactly, Jared knows, what happened. Two levels up, in what they know as the real world, a train has stopped, and Jared lurches backwards just as the world blacks out. He wakes up.

 

**January 17, 2011**   
**Saint-Etienne, France**

"I am going to sleep. For _days_."

Jared's voice is hushed out of some sort of respect for the darkness of the hotel room. Shadows of the bed and dresser are outlined by the dim city lights as it filters through the curtains. They both blink in the light when Jared flips the lamps on.

"You should, too, I mean I know we just napped or whatever but dude, you look like death."

It sort of hangs in the air, both of them realizing how close to death they actually were, and mere hours ago. Chris had the office building pretty much cleared out when the two of them showed up, half-expecting to find an ambush waiting there. It was just Chris though, who clapped them both on the back and told them to go sort their shit out. It made Jensen jumpy, the idea that there was unfinished business of that caliber to be taken care of, but they could deal with it in the morning—Coronet's team would just have to lie low for the night anyway, wait until they could be paid off. Money, as it seems, is important to some people, at least.

"Thanks," Jensen says dryly, and the tension clears. 

Jared scrubs at his face for a second and rubs a hand through his hair, then starts emptying his pockets. Wallet, complete with fake ID; room key; a silver key ring that jingles when it hits the edge of the bedspread; and his pocket watch. Jensen feels vaguely guilty knowing that Jared's totem is useless now. He licks his lips, says quietly:

"Do you think he deserved it?"

"I don't know, man. I think that's for you to decide."

Jensen runs a finger over the familiar brass of the pocket watch. "It isn't like limbo was hell or anything," he muses, although he isn't sure how active Coronet's subconscious could really be. He'd spent too much time feeling sorry for himself to really hate the guy.

"I'll let you know what I think, though," Jared says. "He isn't worth wasting your time feeling guilty over."

He has to remind himself that it's the real Jared talking here, not some twisted façade from Jensen's own brain. 

"You really are an excellent point man," Jensen muses. He hadn't exactly meant to say it out loud, but the confused look Jared gives him is more amused than anything, so Jensen just shrugs. "You keep your extractor focused on what's important. Moral compass, you know."

Jared smirks. "A-ha. Keep you on the straight and narrow."

"I'm not so sure about straight," Jensen says, and Jared barks out a surprised laugh. Jensen fights down his grin, reaching hesitantly out to touch Jared's bicep, smooth out the fabric there."You always know the true direction, though."

Jared wastes absolutely no time with this, taking Jensen's wrist and yanking the both of them down onto the bed. The second he hits the mattress Jensen wants to sink into it and never leave, because his bones feel so damn heavy. Jared just smiles down at him, something soft and hidden, then starts turning down the sheets, maneuvering Jensen out of the way.

"You could help, here, you know."

"Hey, you're the one who dragged me down here, now you get to deal with it."

"Oh, right, my fault, I forgot," Jared says. He stretches his back and arms and goes back to messing with the sheets—blanket off, comforter on, two pillows. "It's not like I didn't just save your ass from a crazed psycho or anything. You know he actually thought he could get away with it? Please. Me and you are the best fucking team this side of the pond. Depending on which side of the pond we're on."

Jensen nods along. Jared's talking nonsense, but he lets it wash over him anyway, familiar and worn like an old blanket.

"And anyway, we don't have to worry about it anymore, do we? Because _you_ "—he shoves Jensen over—"are going to take me home and introduce me to your cats or whatever. And we're getting a dog. I saw that eye roll, dude. I'm pretty sure you're not going fuckin' _anywhere_ after this."

For the moment it's as if the years awake never happened. The pillows at his back could be the ones Jared created for the window house, the port of their wanderings for their time spent in limbo, time as vivid as any memory. Jensen stops himself from asking if they're dreaming.

"... because, dude, did you even notice?" 

Jensen can't hold back his brief smirk, all the warning Jared has before he's muscled swiftly back onto the mattress, a look of open surprise as his shoulders settle themselves back. He freezes there though, hesitant. Jensen shouldn't let it bother him—it was his fault anyway, wasn't it? What had it been, the reason he let Jared ever doubt...?

"Jay," he says, around the guilt lodged in his throat. He knows his face is giving him away, so he tucks his forehead against Jared's collarbone. Breathes in the familiar scent, the warmth of him. Jared's still for another beat, and then his hands come up to rest on Jensen's flanks. His long fingers curve around to bracket Jensen's spine. Guilt sweeps over him again, raw.

Jared says, "Y'all right?" with genuine concern. Concern for _Jensen_. As if he's the one who deserves to be asked that question. He breathes a low breath into Jared's t-shirt, gathers Jared's hands in his own and settles them back on the comforter. Jared says nothing, just waits. He was always so good at that; waiting. Like a hurricane most of the time, but calm as the eye of the storm when he needs to be. 

"Jen?" 

"'M okay. 'M just..." He pushes off, fingers tangling briefly with Jared's, and then he settles back against his thighs. "I've been so fucking stupid, man."

"Yeah, well. Can't argue with that." Jared's grinning, but he's holding his breath. Thing is, he's right, and they both know it. You don't just get a clean slate after treating someone like that, not even if that someone is Jared. _Especially_ if that someone is Jared. 

After all this time, he second guesses himself. He doesn't deserve this second chance; hell, he doesn't deserve any of this—the restful sleep, the warmth of forgiveness. He underestimates Jared. He underestimates himself. He dares to ask for a re-do, and Jared, grinning wide, no hesitation, grants it.

"I love you," he says. It just drops right out into the air. Jared smiles, reaches up to trace Jensen's cheekbone quickly with the side of his thumb. He drops his hand, still smiling. "I don't know why you don't hate me right now," Jensen admits.

"I never hated you. Tried though. I wanted to hate you _so bad._ It ain't like I went chasing you down, though, right? And anyway. It was your decision to make."

"I was wrong."

"And now you know."

This is stupid. They're both going to have to face it sooner or later, get under the skin of betrayal where it's raw and hurting. But Jensen knows where Jared is going with this: not right now. It doesn't have to be right now; they can apologize first and deal with the rest later. Jensen doesn't think, just leans down and fits his mouth over Jared's, and it's the first real kiss they've ever shared. It feels warm and soft and exactly like kissing Jared had ever felt, but Jensen buries a hand in Jared's hair and has to hold himself together anyhow.

Jared's mouth opens under his, but there's nothing rushed about it. It's slow and careful, like unfolding a map and remembering an old route. 

"Does this count as life-affirming?" Jared murmurs. Jensen pushes up Jared's shirt gently and hums in response, dropping in a kiss onto his chest. Jared's breath stutters underneath him.

They struggle each other out of their shirts, all trace of amusement gone from Jared's expression. Neither one of them wants to move too far away and so it's a bit unclear who unbuttons whose jeans, pushing them down each other's hips, kicking pant legs and boxers off the end of their feet. The room is quiet enough to hear the rustle of skin against skin, dreamlike—but Jensen is acutely aware, down to every nerve in his body, that this is no dream.

Jensen settles himself down between Jared's knees. "Jay," he starts, but Jared pushes his hips up and Jensen has to hiss at the friction.

"Hmm?"

Jensen shakes his head as he rolls his hips downward, and whatever he was going to say is lost in Jared meeting him mid-thrust. Jared's hand comes up to cup the back of Jensen's head and Jensen leans down to suck at his collar bone; up to bite at his lips. The roll of their hips becomes less fluid, more urgent and harder to control—years, it had been _years_ , and Jared's body feels familiar and strange at the same time.

It's the same, really, the aching pressure of his dick and the sharp need for more, but it's everything else that's different: Jensen's body feels more like it has wants of its own, and Jared's hands on him are a surprise wherever they land—his back, his hips, Jared's fingertips greedy for skin.

Jared pants out something that is probably Jensen's name, but half the word is lost in a quiet, choked-off moan that makes Jensen shudder. Jared's hands finally come to a rest at the point of Jensen's hips, pressing his thumbs in. Jensen bucks his hips down roughly and it blurs the edge of his vision. He does it again.

" _Fuck_ ," Jared bites out, surprised, "I'm-" and then he comes, knees clenching tighter around Jensen's ribcage. Jensen laughs and Jared reaches between them to grab Jensen in retaliation. The sharp pressure pulls a broken moan out of him and he meets Jared's eyes, thrusting roughly into the hand trapped between them, slick with come and sweat. He looks at Jared and thinks _he looks so god damn happy,_ and then he drops his head onto Jared's shoulder and comes.

He just breathes for a while. Jared's hand comes up to card through his hair, a bit longer now than it was in limbo. Jared has changed too, some of his bulk evened out into lean muscle. Stress, Jensen thinks guiltily, but it's only a quick pang, too bone-tired to let it hold.

Nobody says anything, and soon Jensen shifts to the side, Jared's arm tangled around his neck. They press together up and down their sides and Jared reaches out a long arm to flick off the light on the bedside table. The lamp on the dresser glows, and Jensen knows that they should probably clean up, but they don't. 

Jensen waits for Jared's breath to even out in sleep, but he drifts off first, and while his sleep is dreamless, it's the best rest he's had in far too long.

|||

Jared stares at the ceiling for a long time before he gets out of bed. Jensen is lying beside him on his stomach, the warm length of his side pressing all along Jared's. He watches Jensen's back gently expand with breath for a moment, then reluctantly slides sideways off the bed, scooping up his clothes on the way into the bathroom.

He comes out of the shower with his mind still pleasantly blank, like everything has been wiped clean and all that matters is the soft carpet beneath his feet, the sounds coming from the open window that faces the newer part of the city, Jensen standing casually in front of the low dresser, sipping from one of the hotel-provided coffee mugs. The air smells slightly burnt, as if Jensen had dumped every packet of cheap coffee grounds into the tiny machine all at once. 

"What are you _drinking_?"

"Coffee," Jensen says. His eyes crinkle gently at Jared when he lifts the mug to take a sip. "Spend too much time asleep."

Jared leans over his shoulder and peers into the mug, the coffee thick and swirling with oils. "That's not coffee."

"'S good."

"Okay, but it's not coffee _._ It's sludge. Toxic sludge."

"Shh," Jensen says into his mug. "Some people like toxic sludge."

Jared ignores him and drops his forehead onto Jensen's shoulder. He doesn't even care that he's getting Jen's t-shirt wet, or that the coffee smells so strong he might lose all sense of smell. Jensen leans a hip against the dresser and Jared leans a hip into Jensen, bracketing him in with his hands on the dresser's edge. Jensen drinks his coffee, eyes locked on the haze over the city. 

"What should we do today?" he says. 

Jared sighs so heavily that his whole body moves. Jensen laughs softly, which is something Jared can feel reverberate through his body where it's pressed against Jensen, which is something Jared childishly feels like he needs to grab onto and never let go.

"I think we should go home," he answers.

He doesn't mean limbo. Home could mean anywhere at this moment, but that isn't exactly what Jared means, and he knows that Jensen knows it, too. _We should start over. We should pick up where we left off. We should continue right on with what we're doing_. It all means the same thing, and that's the two of them together, out here in the real world.

It sounds impossible. After—after _everything_ , can they still have that?

He has spent two years convincing himself that, if he were ever to see Jensen look him in the eye again, Jared would be able and willing to let go. Jensen wanted out, and he was going to get what he wanted the second time around, because he turned his back on Jared once and he wasn't going to get a chance to do it again.

But he thinks, for a second, that maybe they can build something together again, this time nothing that takes shape or form—something like a life. There are years of heartache that Jared knows will catch up to him, and when he thinks about what Jensen has been through he knows it's almost going to be worse, for him. Jared takes a deep breath, knowing for certain that the things Jensen gave up—Danneel, his secrets, the carefully constructed life Jensen had once made out of the ruins of another—will make it hard for Jared to even convince himself that they're better together.

But Jensen is smiling at him sleepily over the rim of his mug, chipped on the corner, imperfect like nothing in limbo ever was, and Jared knows in this instant, what they both want is here in this room. Right here, right now. And no matter how hard they might pinch themselves, they're not waking up.

 

**June 12, 2011**   
**Los Angeles, California**

Jensen thinks he still has sand in his hair. He rubs his hand through it casually. Yep, still sand. Real beaches are a lot messier than dream beaches, which hadn't stopped Danneel from looking horrified when he told her how much time he had spent sleeping on them, both the real ones and the imagined ones. 

Although the real beaches were usually an accident. Sometimes he forgot himself.

Jensen digs a hand into his pocket and closes his fingers around the small compass there—the one that points exactly north, just like it should. Unless, of course, Jensen is dreaming, in which case it tells him adamantly that 'north' lies on the southeast half-cardinal line.

Sure, Jared's totem had worked against him, but these days, Jensen was having a hard time trusting his dreams, even if Jared—the real Jared—was in them.

"Seriously! You two could be mistaken for hobos. Beach rats, that's what you are!"

"Thanks, Danni," Jensen laughs, rolling his eyes.

"It's nice, though," she admits. "This means I can come stay with you any time I want, right? Laze around in the sun all day on the beach? Or will that disturb your sleep?"

"If you want to come down here and roll around in the sand getting a sunburn, that's fine by me, but you're getting the spare bedroom."

"You don't have a spare bedroom."

"I mean the blanket we have down on the beach, next to the hobos."

Danneel is looking at Jensen like he has three heads. He just grins at her, liking the way she answers it with an eye-roll, a quirk of the lips. 

"You've been a bad influence on him, Jared. I'm terrified. No, really."

Seeing Danneel again had felt like being dropped back into center. Jensen will never know another person like he knows Jared, will never have another person walk into a nightmare with him and come out on the other side, loving him anyway. But spending the afternoon with her had felt like closure, better than any apology he could have tried to articulate. Watching her with Jared had felt like benediction.

He leans in close when he hugs her goodbye, kisses her cheek. Danneel smiles softly, just for him, and he doesn't want to let her go back to New York, across the country. Funny how he hardly ever minded being separated by time, but distance was like a thorn in his side, always throbbing, too painful to remove. 

"Jensen? Be happy, okay? I'm keeping tabs on you. I'm not doing this for me, you know."

"I know," Jensen says, surprised at how little it hurts. At how _much_ he loves her in this moment. 

"Don't you boys stay up too late, all right?" she says, stepping out the door as Jared calls out from behind him, "Can't promise you anything!"

Jensen can only roll his eyes. How his life came to this, he has no idea. He suspects it has something to do with the unstoppable force that is Jared Padalecki, and just smiles apologetically at Danneel as he shuts the door behind her, laughing.

Jared's smiling quietly when he turns back around, arm slung casually over the back of the couch. Jensen looks back—just looks, and not because he can, but because Jared's smile is something shared between them. Jensen looks because he _wants to_.

"So," he says after a long moment, pushing away from the door; he crosses carefully in front of the couch because he knows that if he takes the invitation Jared's arm is opening up for him, he'll never make it to bed. "Where should we go tonight?"

Jared stretches when he stands, but his yawn covers up a grin. "I dunno, what do you think?" He follows Jensen into the bedroom and sits on the bed. Jensen fiddles with the latches on the PASIV at the foot of the bed for a second, thinking, then flips it open.

"Y'know, there's this little place I dreamed about once. Big house, glass walls."

"Yeah?" Jared sits cross-legged on the edge of the bed, grinning up at him.

"Yeah." Jensen kneels onto the mattress next to Jared; watches his face closely when he inserts the needle into the soft skin on the inside of Jared's elbow. Jared doesn't flinch.

"Sounds nice." Jared says, lying back.

Eight hours. That gives them four days. Three nights on the beach, if they want. It's not the same ocean; it never will be again, but it's more than Jensen could have asked for. And he knows, without a doubt, that they'll wake up safe. Jared will sleepily pull the tubes out of their arms and slip his arm up under Jensen's t-shirt to sleep, unaided, for another five minutes, another half an hour, as long as he wants. There's a whole world outside the window. Jensen wants to belong in it.

_fin_


End file.
